


The Kin Drops In

by Skyesurfer12



Category: Chuck (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 02:24:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 78,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5439923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyesurfer12/pseuds/Skyesurfer12
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The second in the Kin series, and a follow-up to Meet the Kin.</p><p>We pick up a year later, after Chuck and Casey spent an uplanned holiday with Casey's kin in the Midwest - and made the decision to pursue a relationship that goes beyond handler/asset.  Now, the boys are together, ready to spend a happy Christmas at home alone this year.  </p><p>Mother Casey has other plans.  So does Fulcrum.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Kin Drops In (Chapter One)

The Kin Drops In

Chapter One

-x-

Castle Underground Base  
19 December 2009  
10:17 am PST

“C’mon guys, who’s with me on this one? Sarah? Up top.” Chuck lifted a hand in the air, only to have Sarah give him a small smile and roll her eyes. “What? No love for the holiday season, I see.” He turned to the leader and bulkiest member of Team Bartowski, wondering briefly if those two facts were related somehow, and tried to get a high five. “What about you, Case? Let’s tell her –”

“Sit, Bartowski,” Casey said. “Four star General incoming. Not one of your monkey-friends.” 

Chuck watched his profile carefully. Despite the dramatic – and physical – change in their partnership over the past year, John Casey could still intimidate the asset when he chose to. He was an excellent spy, good at laying down the law when it came to matters of national security, protocols, and handling of the Intersect – but even the mighty Casey had relaxed the tiniest bit. 

Like now. Because, really Casey, intimidation? A mere six days before Christmas? Chuck straightened a little bit and poked him. “Haven’t we earned it?” He held up three fingers and began ticking off his points. “Defusing a pipe bomb along the route of the Los Angeles marathon. Check. Identifying an extremist with plans to blow up a commercial hub in Mumbai. Done that.” 

“Chuck,” Sarah began, “before you get rolling, I should tell you –”

“Foiling an attack on the American embassy in Damascus. Yep – yours truly. Well, us truly. So, guys, we need to look the General in her beady little eyes – or the top of her red bun, since that’s all you can see over the –”

“I see you brought the asset,” a cool voice pronounced just as the wall monitors flicked to life. “Sit, Mr. Bartowski.”

Casey elbowed him, tucked a thumb in his belt, and coughed politely. Meaning Game time over. Sit your ass down. The slicing signal with his other hand behind his back solidified his order.

Right, Chuck thought. Probably not the time to demonstrate the height of the General’s desk in relationship to her face. “Good morning, General.” With a guilty look, he lowered his flat palm from the bridge of his nose and instead pretended to take care of an itch. “Um, I’ll just go ahead and … sit.”

He plopped himself into a chair at Castle’s post-apocalyptic style conference table. Sarah and Casey stood at one end of it, facing the screen and partially blocking his view. Was that on purpose? Chuck frowned at their backs, but he took it as a cue to let the two trained super spies in the room handle the briefing this morning.

General Beckman wasted no time with small talk, jumping right into the daily topics. A flash two days ago on a Santa’s helper in green and white tights at Large Mart led the FBI to a warehouse filled with pinched merchandise. Another headache-inducing gift from the Intersect fed him grisly details of a customer who at first appeared to be just a man with over-active sweat glands, and in reality, was siphoning money from a drug lord.

Somehow, she forgot to say the words thank you. Or, better yet, Take some well-deserved time off, Intersect. 

Yeah. Right. The kid stretched his legs out until his foot hit his boyfriend’s heel. When Casey jumped, almost imprecisely, he did it again – until the heavy heel came down on the rubber tip of his black Chuck. Ah. That would be a No to the covert flirting. Another slicing gesture behind his back, this one meaning the Major was no longer amused, and that his asset slash partner slash overall plaything should fly right – or pay later.

Sweeping his eyes over those stiff broad shoulders, Chuck fought the urge to put his size thirteens up on the table as an act of holiday rebellion. And though the kid sat behind him, his lover must’ve sensed either the pensive look – not a pout – or the hint of mutiny, because Casey shifted ever so slightly, now completely blocking Chuck’s view. 

His view of the monitor, that is. However, at the same time, it did wonders for the view of Casey’s rounded backside. Which was preferred exponentially over the General’s scowl, anyway. Leaning back, Chuck took in the freebie undetected, so maybe that was her way of saying thank you. Who wouldn’t appreciate a very nicely shaped ass … the firm curve, that fine swell in his dark wash jeans … not the flat-butt syndrome that some –

“– and finally, I’m certain the team has questions as to whether you’ll be allowed to take some well deserved time off.” She folded her hands in front of her. “For you, Major, I’m afraid the answer is no.”

Chuck rose to his feet and glanced at Casey before realizing his boyfriend wouldn’t even blink at this news. “But … you just said well deserved!” the kid argued. “How can you turn around and say –”

“Will you please sit, Mr. Bartowski.” It was not a question, not when the General’s voice ground out the words like powder, obviously perturbed at the interruption.

Sensing his handler going rigid along his spine – Sit or else – Chuck gave her an aggravated look and sagged into the chair. “Figures,” he muttered. “I ask for a little freedom for the holiday, and what do I get? A screw job from the government.”

Oh. 

The reference made Sarah get a bit of saliva stuck in her throat. It also made Casey slide his heel back again to hit his foot, this time a little friskily. 

Complaining about the fringe benefits, kid?

“May I finish?” The General leaned forward, canvassing each face to ensure they knew not to answer. “Agent Walker has requested a six day leave. This has been granted, Sarah. Your time off begins when we complete our briefing.”

“Sarah? Really? That’s ... where are you going, anyway?”

“It’s personal,” she replied, keeping her agent face schooled.

“And Major Casey, the agency thanks you for your dedicated service.” Beckman’s voice became milder as she examined her agent. “Additionally, it owes you an apology for these holiday arrangements, considering last year’s inopportuneness of being forced to take the asset home for Christmas.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Casey agreed matter-of-fact, an innocent-sounding accord that had Chuck narrowing his eyes at Casey’s back. The very same trip where they put inhibitions and complications aside, and jumped headlong into a relationship? Moved it back to Burbank? Or more specifically, to Casey’s bedroom, while the government failed to notice altered surveillance? Casey guarded that little gem, because there was no way in hell the bureaucrats knew. No way did they see caressing fingers against the small of his back, an arm reaching over his shoulders, a hand brushing his jaw – all just outside the range of the camera’s lenses.

More like a microscope, Chuck thought morosely, and dammit, he had a right to normalcy. But if the agency got even a mere whiff of the new arrangement – well, no thank you. Something told the kid that Beckman wouldn’t quite see it as only his amendments being violated. 

“Unfortunately, due to the personal obligation Agent Walker must now attend to, I’m afraid I can’t give you a respite this year, Casey,” the General said. “We cannot take the risk of vetting another short-term handler. Even our own cannot be fully trusted.” An uneasy simmer flared on her face. It had to peck away at her soul to admit traitors infiltrated her nest. “Major, you’ll be in sole possession of the asset during Walker’s absence. As primary caretaker, –”

“Wow, I am in the room you know – and a grown man!”

“– this will mean 24/7 surveillance. You can’t let him out of your sight.” Beckman gave the Major a curt nod, completely ignoring Chuck’s outburst. “I hope this does not prove to be an undue burden to you, especially in light of last year’s … unusual circumstances.”

“No, ma’am,” Casey answered, raising his chin.

“Good. There will be no missions. Only the daily data dumps for the Intersect.” 

“Of course. Wouldn’t want to miss that,” Chuck said, trying to sound dejected while his heart began to clock new speed records. No missions? Not out of Casey’s sight? Her words … her permission. Hell, he’d give the General a few cartwheels right now if it wasn’t for discretion. Well. And lack of agility, but whatever. 

So he sat still and enjoyed the spike of anticipation warming his belly – until he got a look at the female member of their team. Sarah’s pale complexion, the worry line between her two brows. Embarrassed and guilty that it had taken him this long, the kid realized the personal obligation meant some sort of trouble.

“Major, one more thing.” Beckman’s unyielding tone made Chuck lean sideways in his chair, trying to read her face. “If we pick up on Fulcrum’s trail – unusual chatter, a feasible threat, any viable inference – all holiday bets are off.” She clipped her words precisely. “We’ll go in. Otherwise, you understand the current protocols.” Without waiting, she ended the call.

“Huh.” Chuck stood and wrinkled his nose at the NSA emblem. “And here I was just getting ready to say Merry Christmas.” 

“Or let you say thanks for the present.” Sarah smiled, though the kid noticed it was strained. “Both of you.”

Yeah, she knew. When they had returned from Illinois the previous holiday, it had taken Sarah all of about two seconds to discern a change in their partnership, and the boys didn’t exactly hide it. Casey had been correct, of course, that Sarah Walker knew how to keep a secret. That she’d keep her mouth shut. 

Well, except in private, when she could tease Casey relentlessly. Because nothing stopped the blonde from enjoying the Major’s blatant defiance of orders, choosing to give a middle finger to the government while defiling their asset. Every day was like Christmas come early for her, come to think of it. 

“Not so fast, Ms. Walker,” Chuck said, rounding on her. “You can get in your daily digs on him later. What was that all about? Personal time? Spill. We’re your friends.”

Casey grunted at friends. “I get it, Walker. Finally decided that Larkin’s better than cold showers?” Another low sound, this one signifying his skepticism of Bryce’s prowess. “Or maybe you’re giving up on catching it in the mitt, and switching to softball? Carina’s in Playa del Carmen this time of year, isn’t she?”

Chuck tried to unravel half of what that meant and felt his cheeks bloom when he did. “Uh, what Casey means is that we’re not trying to be nosy, but … are you okay?”

Sarah’s face never flickered or moved as she pushed away from the table, even though they both knew she was defenseless against the pleading eyes Chuck had pointed at her. “It’s my dad. I’m … going to spend the holiday with him.”

“But ….” Chuck struggled with the words, because did she really need to be reminded that her dad was simply Prisoner 725950 to the state of California, and therefore the holiday would be rather bland?

“My dad is incarcerated? Yes.” She hesitated before adding, “He’s also having surgery – and thanks to his exemplary act of bravery in securing Ahmad’s bank account number, he’s being transferred to a secure wing of a local hospital.” Sarah put a hand over her heart and tapped her chest. “Just a … blocked artery. We hope. He’ll be … fine. But I want to be there.”

Chuck reached out and touched her arm. “I’m sure he’ll be okay. Devon does these in his sleep.”

“Besides,” Casey said, folding his arms over his chest, “think of it this way –”

“Casey … sweetie.” The kid braced himself for the helpful insight. “Maybe Sarah doesn’t need your two cents on –”

“There are certain people you just can’t kill, and I’m pretty certain, Walker, your old man is one of them.”

Sarah eyed him in the way a woman examines a man before striking the jugular. “Boy, Christmas came early to the Casey household this year, hmm?” she said, her voice filled with the undercurrent of the naughty fun she was about to have. “Are you certain you’ll be able to fulfill these duties, Major? You heard the General. Granted singular responsibility for the Handling and Control of the Asset.” Smug, she gave Chuck a little shove towards his new fulltime handler. “Gonna put him in 24/7 lockdown?”

“Lockdown?” Chuck echoed, confusion mingling with humiliation. “I didn’t hear anything about a lockdown –”

“Perhaps within your apartment, Agent? A nice padded compartment?” she wondered, placing a finger on her cheek. “Maybe you have plans to keep him in horizontal confinement?”

“Stuff it, Walker.” With his I’ve had enough of this bullshit look, he closed the gap, obviously taking pleasure with the six inches of height he had on her. “The asset will be my … problem for the next six days. Don’t you have bigger things to worry about, CIA?” While he spoke, his jaw twitched with a smile he was holding onto, the rakish variety that told Chuck he didn’t think those suggestions were half bad. “Go,” he ordered, the hard edge in his voice softening. “I got this.”

“Oh, that’s not the question.” Sarah patted Chuck’s arm as the devious grin broadened. “Just make sure the Intersect is still functional when I get back.”

“You know, I appreciate you’re finding humor in this situation, but again, I am right here,” Chuck pointed out. “And considering I’m standing between my fake ex-girlfriend and my keep it a secret or get bunkered boyfriend, this is a bit of a complicated moment.” But in the back of his brain, he mused over what had just happened, and a smile blossomed. “On the other hand – holy gift giving, Batman … I think we just got a hall pass from the teacher.”

“Try to behave, boys,” Sarah said, rolling her eyes at them. She gave Chuck a hug and smiled when Casey backed up a step. “And seriously, have fun. Be good, don’t get into trouble. Who knows?” The blonde agent turned to them and raised a brow. “Maybe you’ll even … figure out how to make this work?”

“Eh.” Detecting a spat of girl-talk on the horizon, Casey nodded a final good-bye, copped a hidden pinch of Chuck’s buttock as he passed him, and headed into the safe haven of the armory. 

“God, you two,” Sarah grumbled when he was out of range.

“’Make it work’?” Chuck lowered his hands from the air quotes and had to frown. “You of all people should know that’s not the way this works. Sarah, think about it. If the Big Red-headed Brother finds out, –”

“I know, and it’s none of my business ….”

“But ….?” Chuck hedged, feeling the bubble of trepidation, and let out breath. “There is a but there.”

“Mm-hmm. One that you checked out very thoroughly, too.”

“You saw that?”

Sarah winked. “But, I guess I’m starting to see this a bit differently,” she said, going to her desk to retrieve her purse. “And I’m only saying this because you’re both my friends.”

“Even Major Pain in Your Ass?” Chuck smiled.

“Yes, even the Wolf Whisperer.” 

“I … would not use that in front of him if I were you.” The kid stole a glance towards the armory, but Casey was preoccupied with cleaning a stainless steel and black monster of a handgun; a Christmas requisition, courtesy of Uncle Sam that had put a glint in his steely blue eyes. “What are we supposed to figure out? We all know the rules of the game we’re playing here.”

“I think the rules are changing.”

“Why?”

Sarah turned to the table and flipped through a folder in front of her. “Two flashes this week. Excellent work, Intersect,” she said, smiling. “But the data dumps from Washington? The boring reports? Nyet.”

Chuck furrowed his brows at her. “What are you getting at?”

“The Intersect may be safer in a bunker, that’s true.” Sarah checked to see if Casey was listening, and deeming it safe, she leaned in closer. “But I think it’s obvious – it’s much too dangerous to lock you away. The Intersect … is more effective when it’s interacting with society. She’ll never do it.”

“We can’t take the chance your hunch is right.”

“So in the meantime you can live with your sister, and take nightly booty calls with your –”

“Shh!” Chuck waved her down and peeked past his shoulder. “Are you … is there surveillance in Casey’s apartment?”

“No.” Sarah arched a brow. “But am I wrong?”

Chuck squirmed. They both knew the relationship could hardly be categorized as meaningless, bawdy booty, but was it a crime when damn good sex was available just across the courtyard? 

“Fine. Tease all you want. Geez.” From the armory, he heard Casey begin to dissemble the weapon, but to be safe, he lowered his voice. “But it’s not exactly the easiest situation when you have government property stuffed in your head and an NSA assassin for a boyfriend. You couldn’t have forgotten our fake under- the-cover whatever it was?”

“It’s different.”

“But in some ways, exactly the same,” Chuck said.

Sarah nodded. “My point. The question is, what’re you going to do about it? It has been a year, hasn’t it?”

Chuck’s eyes trailed from her smile to the man now getting busy buffing his weapon. Immediately, he admonished himself for his brain putting it that way.

His face flushed. “I have to trust his instincts,” he said.

Still, another point for Sarah. Face it. It had been a long twelve months of living under yet another layer of secrets and lies. Managing the perceptions of the Buy More staff, their friends, their families. He almost needed a spreadsheet to keep it all straight. 

“Will you call us when you find out about your dad?” Chuck summarized, just to make sure she caught the hint to drop it if his pained expression wasn’t enough. 

“Sorry, Chuck.” She wrapped a hand around his wrist to get him to look down. “That was none of my business.”

Despite the whorls of awkwardness that still edged between them at times, he had to smile. “You’re being a friend. Which reminds me. I know there’s probably nothing we can do to help, but –”

“Yes, there is. Stop worrying and enjoy the holiday. That’s an order.” Sarah shoulder-bumped him. “It’s hard to believe a year ago, you were getting on a plane to spend Christmas at the Casey’s.” 

Chuck pretended to shudder. “I really try not to think of that whole experience.” 

“Well, if you’re stuck with him,” she pointed out, jerking her head towards the armory, “you’re stuck with them.” 

“Luckily, his family is nine states away, safely clad in their matching holiday sweaters. Almost a safe distance,” Chuck added, a lopsided grin forming. 

“Dork. Be nice.” She chuckled, just as the overhead fluorescent lights sputtered, throwing the concrete bunker into darkness. “Huh. That’s weird,” Sarah murmured. It took a long moment before the hum of electricity and lights filled the room again. “The auxiliary lights should’ve come on sooner than that. What were we talking about?”

Chuck shrugged. “I dunno. Oh. I have to clock in before Big Mike sends out a search party.” He hunched a bit and hugged her. “Call us, okay?”

When the hug ended, Sarah stepped back and held him by the elbows. “I’ll let you know.” She glanced swiftly at Casey and her smirk took a left turn at lewd. “If he lets you out of the dungeon to take calls, that is.”

-x-

Footsteps. Incoming strike. 

Fucking great. Leave it to Walker to have to get in one more jibe before hightailing it to the old man. 

More than accustomed to this bullshit by now, Casey dropped the swabbing cloth on the table and picked up the obstruction rod. “God, I hope you’re not in here to –”

“Am I interrupting you, Major?” Sarah sauntered over to the table, getting a look at the loose magazine and slide laid neatly side by side. “Field stripping your equipment already?”

Casey wisely brushed off the question, not looking up. Which was probably a good thing, since her know-it-all grin would grind his ass. “Packed, Walker?”

“Yes.” There was a pause. “Seriously, though. What are the two of you going to do for six days?”

He should just drop it. That would be the mature thing to do, especially from the team leader and a decorated officer of the US military …. 

Still.

With the barrel pointed to the ceiling, the agent drew the narrow rod down the inside of the steel cylinder; up, then back down. Then a few more times, just because he damn well could. Down. Swish. Up. 

A little harder. 

“Did you hear what I … oh.” Sarah squinted at his hands and sucked in a breath. “Funny. You know what, Casey? You can be a real asshole sometimes,” she said, tossing the cleaning cloth at his head. “Just keep it from going haywire, will ya? The General might notice if the Intersect begins spurting out nuclear codes or the recipe for Coke without the proper stimulus. Go easy on him, Agent.”

Casey grunted. No promises.

-x-

Casey’s Apartment  
19 December 2009  
08:03 pm PST

Sex on Casey’s couch could get a little weird.

Oh, not that. Not the actual sex part. Hell, he would need to enroll in a twelve step program and spend Tuesday nights tied to a metal folding chair in a musty Baptist Church basement to rid himself of that craving. 

Not that he’d ever want to do that. That was just crazy talk.

The sex part of the equation – lying under Casey, or getting shoved up against the pillowed armrest, or on his bare knees in front of the couch, long fingers threaded through his dark, thick mane – well, that was not the variable that left him puzzled. It was the aftermath. When Casey took his shirt collar and tugged him up the stairs to his bedroom, spending the night was not a question. Piece of cake. Wasn’t he already tangled around him, his cheek resting on his chest, slick with sweat, and half asleep by the time they were done?

But with couch sex, the boundaries got a little blurry. Chuck could lay there for a few minutes, his belly pressed to Casey’s spent cock, jeans still twisted around one ankle, and shrug on his clothes to walk home just as easily. Some nights, his boyfriend told him it would be okay to stay if he wanted. Other times, he stretched his arms, trying to hide a look at his watch as he steered him to the door. It’s safer for everyone if you go ….

….and with his hair still damp, one knuckle caressing the side of his cheek, a slow lazy kiss. A hand around his wrist to guide him to the courtyard ….

Tonight, it was neither. When Chuck rose to his feet, almost stumbling into the coffee table thanks to a snarled pant leg, Casey’s cell phone chirped. His boyfriend kept his head on the sofa’s pillow, eyes closed, exhaling. Still giving up those deathly quiet, deep shuddering breaths. “Not now. Jesus. Can you … see who we have to get rid of?”

The kid shimmied his boxers up to his hips and slanted a look to the phone. “Um, who do we know in Illinois?” Oh, hell. By the time the words were out of his mouth, Chuck felt tension filtering through his neck, pinpricks of heat on his shoulders. He prayed it was a wrong number, or anyone but –

“Mother,” Casey rumbled, right after he swiped the phone from Chuck’s sweaty palm and touched the screen. “Hello, Ma.” He waited. “You don’t have to ask for me. It’s my cell phone. Chances are, it’s gonna be me picking up.” Casey sat up and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Who? Oh, Chuck. Well, he knows better than to touch my stuff.” He listened, and with a sly grin, he ran a palm around the waistband of Chuck’s jeans, brushing a thumb over his bare lower belly. “Yes, I’ve been treating him nicely.” 

Chuck’s breath hitched at the touch. “What’s going on?” he mouthed.

Casey gave one more propriety rub on his thigh and let his hand drop. “You don’t have to stay for this,” he mouthed back at him. “You should leave.”

Chuck repressed a mildly wounded look and pulled on his shirt. “I … guess I should. Early shift tomorrow, huh?”

As he pulled the door closed, the kid gave a small wave, but Casey was too busy balancing the phone under his chin and pulling on his pants to notice.

x-  
Burbank Buy More  
20 December 2009  
9:54 am PST

“Oh, there you are,” Morgan said before Chuck had wadded up the paper towel, noticing he wasn’t alone in the bathroom. “I’ve been looking for you, man.”

“Morgan.” Chuck skimmed over the drab tiled space meaningfully and rested a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Some things are sacred. Bathroom breaks being one of them.”

“It’s the only place Emmett doesn’t have his customer service surveillance cams,” Morgan told him, rubbernecking over one of the stalls. “We either have to talk here or under the couch in the home theater room.”

“Under?” Chuck made a mental note to have Casey disrupt the Ass Man’s surveillance. He also had to wonder what Emmitt had in his blackmail stash. His boyfriend was discreet, after all, but there was that one time on the loading dock after closing. Well, maybe twice. 

Chuck was careful not to show concern on his face as he pushed the door open, shuffling out onto the sales floor. “I have to get back to work, so you’ll have to hope that Emmitt is a not a lip reader when he’s watching this performance tonight. What is it?”

“Uh, okay, but if I see him watching us, I’m going to slip into Pig Latin.” Cautious, Morgan surveyed the area and fell in to step next to him. “Any luck with the gift?”

The gift. Or specifically, Casey’s gift. Last Christmas, entrenched in the most impossible circumstances, he gave away his father’s old watch. Worn pebbled leather with a scratch here and there, the vintage chronograph stayed on Casey’s wrist, the General none the wiser. A silent testament to time and resilience. What gift could possible match one from his family … his heart?

“No clue.” 

“Five days.”

“I’m working on it, okay?” Chuck smiled politely at a green shirt passing by. “It’s not exactly easy buying for a man like that.”

“A man who holds so many secrets?”

“S-secrets? He’s doesn’t –” Chuck swallowed and kept his face blank. “Everything’s right out in the open with Casey. There are no secrets under that shirt. Really, Morgan, think about it. Where would they hide?” 

Morgan peered suspiciously in Casey’s direction. At that moment, the NSA agent lifted a boxed stack of four thirty-six inch plasmas, allowing someone’s grandma to take the one on the bottom. “I see your point. But, Chuck. Please. This is your buddy you’re talking to. No one is more mysterious than your green-shirted man of meat.” 

“If he hears you referring to him as a cut of beef, I can’t be responsible for the actions, little buddy.”

Morgan ducked his head behind a rack of DVDs, scoping out Casey’s position next to the stainless side- by-side refrigerators. “I think it’s safe to say that your prime rib over there –”

“Will remove one of your ribs with his thumb and a spork? Oh. And feed it back to you?”

“Walk with me. Cam 5 at 3:00 o’clock.” Morgan attempted to look casual as he perused a rack of Katy Perry CDs. Taking a moment to study the cover, he flinched and tucked the plastic case back under Nintendo’s latest. “How can I help you if you don’t tell the world?”

“What?” Even though they were nearly whispering, Chuck twisted his head around to scan the merchandise racks, wondering who was in earshot. “What am I telling the world?”

“That you’re the big guy’s frosty cone. His loving candy cane, man!” 

“Is this the part where you switch to Pig Latin?” Chuck asked, puzzled. “Do you listen to yourself?”

“Dude. How do you expect to move it up to the next level when you’re still sneaking around, thinking nobody knows! Of course you can’t find the right gift! Your large loving stud-cake over there –”

“Cake?”

“Seriously? Look at him.” Morgan tipped his head and nodded. “That man is not a muffin.”

“Hold on.” Chuck weaved his way past a display of tablets, pulling his friend into a corner. “Did you say thinking nobody knows? Are you telling me –? Who else at the store knows?”

“Jeff and Lester.”

“Jeffster knows?!” The kid’s eyes flared wide. Sweat formed under his white shirt at the thought. “How – how could they possibly –”

“C’mon, Chuck. They saw the two of you leaving the loading dock one night after closing last summer.”

“Oh, God,” Chuck mumbled, casting a desperate look around the store. But it occurred to him he shouldn’t give up without a fight. “People … go out on the loading dock all the time. Does it really have to mean they’re –” 

“Casey was un-tucked when you returned.

“Un … tucked?” Chuck blinked. “What are you even talking about?”

“He’s a tucker, Chuck. Look at him.” Pausing briefly to make eye contact with a pretty customer, Morgan cut past the TVs, pulling his best friend along. “He tucks.” His voice became reverent. “The hem of the green is never seen.”

“You know, I was wrong before. This is the part where you slip into Pig Latin.”

“But that night after the loading dock? Un-tucked.”

Chuck winced, but reminded himself he could still play it cool. “Did any of the geniuses here think it could have something to do with unloading washing machines? His shirt gets un-tucked, and suddenly they put two and two together and –”

“The roof.” Morgan rolled his eyes at Chuck’s mystified face. “A week later.”

“The r-roof? Of the Buy More?” Chuck had to fight not to flush, remembering that night. “I have no idea what you’re –”

“Man, they saw the big guy create a diversion, grab you, and drag you up there. The back stairs? They followed ….” Morgan raised a brow, letting the innuendo rise to the top. “They have … recorded evidence.”

“Oh, no.” Chuck looked up, startled, his eyes following Morgan’s gaze to the nerds seated behind the Herder’s desk. Lester caught the look from across the store, and smirked. “Don’t … please don’t say it –”

“Yeah, well. Now we all know: there was a lot more than some un-tucking going on up there.”

“You didn’t tell me!”

“I knew you’d freak out!”

“And now you tell me?” Panic bubbling, Chuck shot a look over his shoulder. “Is there anyone else I should know about?”

“That should cover it.” When Morgan’s aloof look abruptly turned to a grin, he noted, “Oh, and Anna.”

“Anna? Anna knows?”

“And dude,” Morgan said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “I must say, thank you for that.” He made a play of arranging a few printer cartridges. “The thought of you two together, and whoa, the girl becomes a lioness –”

“Oh, God. Please stop.” 

“Though,” Morgan went on, “perhaps I should be insulted?” A pensive look as he tilted his head, deep in his recollections. “Nah. Who am I kidding?” Like that, his voice shifted. “Uh-oh. Man-bear at two and closing in. I should …. Un-ray.” 

“Wait. Morgan – you still – oh.” Since his boyfriend’s body seemed to radiate heat, Chuck didn’t need to turn to know Casey was now standing behind him. He did anyway, and almost bounced off his broad chest with the forward momentum Casey had going for him. “Uh, hi … sweetie.”

Casey slanted a look to the one side, then the other before using a large hand at Chuck’s waist, up and under his un-tucked shirt, to back him into a private corner. “What was that all about?” Casey asked.

“N-nothing.” 

The warm hand tightened. “You’ll tell me later.” Casey dipped in close, mouth to his ear. “Right now, there’s a new mission.”

“Wait a minute,” Chuck faltered, his mouth dropping open. “Beckman said no missions. Does any of this ring a bell? It’s Christmas! We’re supposed to have some time off –”

“Cork it, stallion. That was yesterday. The orders changed.” Under the rough and ready exterior, Casey at least had the decency to look slightly put out by the task. With his hand brushing, inconspicuous and heated along his stomach for a heartbeat or two, he loosened the grip and dropped two fingers under his waistband. “Mr. Green and White Tights – the nutcase at Large Mart?”

“Y-yes.” Did he know how hard it was to think with his hand like this?

“Not just a two-bit criminal,” Casey told him, keeping his voice low. “It’s bigger than that. He’s set off some flares with the geek analysts. There’s some chatter they’ve picked up.”

“Okay, then.” Chuck lifted his head, and in a nervous gesture, ran a hand over his pocket protector. “If duty calls –”

“Not that kind of duty,” Casey cut in, tapping Chuck’s forehead. “It’s the gunplay and high explosives kind of duty.” His smirk widened and he steered the kid’s jaw to make his brown eyes meet his. “Look at me. He said something ….”

“Oh, no.” Chuck tried to jerk his head back and cover his ears. “Not here, not now. Don’t say it.”

“Nuh-uh. Stay.” Casey came close and said, “Operation Purple Violet.”

“M-mother fu –” The flash coldcocked him between the ears, images spraying through his brain like a rampant fire hose. 

A Monarch Butterfly

A bluegill fish flopping on the grass

Neural tissue being carved from a human brain

An empty podium

A Monarch Butterfly

“Why – gah – can’t you warn me before you do that?!”

Casey shrugged. “More fun this way. Well?”

“I … it was … did Green Tights mention something about … the Pickwick Gardens Conference Center?”

From the look on his face, the data had hit the mark. “Nice work, Intersect.” Casey, giving a quick check to see if they were being watched, dragged the back of his knuckles along Chuck’s jaw. “The scum wasn’t lying then.” 

“So, shooting duty? Is that where you’re going?” Chuck shivered as Casey lowered his hand, grazing his middle before dropping it to his side. The trying to distract him ploy, because he wasn’t going to like what came next. “And this begs the question – where will the Intersect be during all of this?” 

“Castle.”

“No.”

Casey narrowed his eyes at him. Maybe he had come to appreciate the kid’s obstinance, but his look told Chuck now was not one of those times. “You’re not coming with me, and we don’t have another handler to play patty-cake with you while I’m gone. You’ll be fine,” Casey said. “That was an order.”

Great. They were now entering the sticky dark hole of handler versus boyfriend, an unwelcome territory they were tripping into more often these days. Despite the fact he could still feel the heat of his palm imprinted on his skin, Chuck braced himself and lifted his chin. “You can’t keep doing that, you know. Switch gears every time it’s convenient? I’m your,” and he lowered his voice to a whisper, “boyfriend, remember? You can’t just order me around.”

Casey’s growl should’ve sufficed for an answer. 

This time, the kid had been pushed far enough. It took a moment to find another spurt of courage, but Chuck folded his arms across his chest and leveled his eyes with Casey’s. “You’ll have to come up with something better than guttural, pissed-off noises.” 

Casey’s glare could’ve melted steel. 

“Oh, and better than that, too,” Chuck added, knowing he was now skating on the thinnest possible shard of ice. He was angry, but on the other hand, if he pushed much further, Casey would use the secret entrance behind the lockers to carry his fucking stubborn ass down there. He’d be almost rough, showing off hard muscles and brute force, because his handler still fell back on his favored method to end an argument when all else failed.

Careful, the kid told himself. The thought of long fingers manacling his wrist backed him up a step. Not a retreat. No. It was just … he wasn’t crazy, either. He knew what his lover was capable of when challenged. “John?”

After a full ten seconds, Casey’s look wavered and he swore under his breath. “You don’t leave home tonight. Got it?”

Chuck leaned in and touched his middle, tracing a small circle, enjoying the scent of his woodsy musk and fiery maleness that became part of the air around him. His lopsided grin could not be helped, since it wasn’t often he weakened him. “Thank you for trusting me,” Chuck said. 

“Don’t make me regret it.”

Chuck let his fingers dig into the solid and warm flesh. “Promise.” But as he shifted away, he remembered to ask. “Which … home? Do you mean my home or … your apartment?”

Dammit. Why did he have to ruin the warmth of his touch by asking it that way?

The air seemed to vibrate with Casey’s exasperation. He took a step forward until their hips touched, pinning Chuck’s back against the wall. Looking to the side, confirming they had no unwanted attention, Casey trailed his fingers low, along his hips. “Not having this conversation,” he said in a rough whisper. “My – our - apartment, if you like.”

Chuck huffed out a breath. “Okay,” he said flatly. As Casey gave him one last look and walked away, the kid shook his head. “Ours,” he muttered to himself. “Nice catch.”

Though he wasn’t sure who he was angrier with. Casey for his slip-up, or himself for feeling this way towards a man who would give his life for him.

-x-

Casey’s Apartment  
20 December 2009  
5:43 pm PST

“Hi … sweetie. I know you hate that, but … okay, anyway, the reason I’m calling is that it’s quarter to six, and I’m wondering if you’ll be back for dinner?” Chuck slouched into the cushion and ran his thumb lazily back and forth over the suede, heaved a sigh. “Now, I know you texted me an hour ago and told me not to call anymore, but … well, this message is getting long … so I’ll just … wait here I guess.”

 

“Me, again. Now, I didn’t want you to get pissed off, thinking I was leaving to get dinner.” He looked down at his cell phone on the coffee table and raised his voice over the sound of gaming gun-fire. Either way, Casey hated it when he talked to him on the speaker phone, but how else did he expect Chuck to use the controller at the same time? “Morgan’s bringing some Thai food. Should I get you a number fifty-five, with the spicy drunken noodles? All righty. Bu-bye.”

 

“Okay, before you get pissed – and I can picture that muscle along your shoulders standing up right now – but Morgan will not be staying past eight. I know you don’t like him on your furniture … or anywhere else for that matter, but he is bringing your boyfriend dinner. That should mean something, hmm?” Chuck paused the game, tossing the controller on the cushion. “Anywaaaaay, that’s all I needed you to know.” 

The kid got up to help himself to a beer. As he twisted the top off and made a basket with the bottle cap, his phone chirped with a text message.

I hate to break up a matter of national security here, but if you don’t stop the fucking phone calls, I will put you in horizontal confinement for the duration. Copy?” 

The lewd chuckle was implied. 

Chuck felt his cheeks redden, and he smiled. So 55 is okay? he thumbed.

A pause. Finally, a chirp. 

Good boy. You know what I like.

Chuck swallowed. He was doing it again. Twelve months ago, if someone had told him the super stoic, super hard ass John Casey had a penchant for sexting, Chuck would’ve laughed in their face. But holy hell, he did. For the simple reason, and one the kid figured out a while back, Casey liked to yank his chain when distance made it impossible for him to do something about it. 

And as Casey had planned, heat prickled low in his belly, then traveled south. But still, he couldn’t let him know that.

Asshole. Shouldn’t you be concentrating on national security?

Just make sure the moron is gone when I get there. 

Yes, sir.

Chuck grinned. It was possible for sarcasm to cut through the simplicity of a text message. 

But then,

Sir? Yeah. I like that.

The sexual tension in the air thickened, leaving a taste of pure lust in his mouth. Chuck could not win this game, so he lowered his head and typed,

Not going to get you rolling, Major Hotpants. cya. 

He sat back and took a drink, grateful that Casey couldn’t witness the way his words had gone straight to his cheeks – and groin. 

Bastard. 

Chuck put his feet up on the coffee table and picked up a magazine. Didn’t Ellie say she was making sugar cookies tonight to leave at the nurse’s station? He wondered if the stay at home rule extended to the courtyard. It wasn’t that he craved a cookie, it was the scent, that aura of Christmas that was missing from Casey’s – or their –apartment.

His eyes shifted, taking in the sparse living room. Oh, sure, there was a sofa and TV, but beyond that, not even a speck of hominess. Unless one counted the metal and glass gun case. Which he did not. And as far as the warmth or aroma of the holiday, well, Casey’s home was a blank canvass.

Chuck sat up abruptly, sending a furtive glance towards the door. Did he really think blank canvass?

Why, for a whole year, had he put up with this?

Then he got an idea. A wonderful idea. 

The nerd got a wonderful, precarious idea. 

Chuck’s face broke into the smile Casey referred to as the retina-busting man-killer. The blazing, crooked one that could bring in small wayward ships on a foggy night. Climbing off the couch, he reached for his cell phone and began talking as soon as the other man answered the call.

“Morgan,” he said. “I have a mission for you.” 

-x-

Casey’s Apartment  
20 December 2009  
8:38 pm PST

Chuck fussed over the stockings hanging from the mantle for the sixth time. Now that the gun case was covered with a faux fur throw, there was a certain hominess one couldn’t get with loaded weapons on display. 

Maybe that was just him, but still.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Chuck stole a glimpse at his government-issued black watch. One hour and forty-three minutes. That’s what it took for him and Morgan to transform Casey’s apartment into a quasi-winter wonderland. Maybe it was cheating to buy the artificial Douglas fir with pre-strung lights, but they were working under an unmanageable time constraint. How else could two giddy nerds pull this off so swiftly?

Chuck didn’t have time to admire their handy work until this minute. He inhaled, let it out, and crossed his arms, his dark eyes igniting with satisfaction as he sized up the tree. He’d say it was perfect, but actually he preferred the endearing faults of nature. Scattered from the branches, plain glass ornaments gleamed with the reflection of the white twinkle lights, bathing the living room in a golden glow. Forest-green scented candles sparkled, reminding Chuck of the time when he was ten and his dad had cut down a real tree. It was time to start his own traditions.

“God. Aces, don’t you think, dad,” he murmured to no one else. He was alone. The moment they had finished, Morgan packed up the empty boxes and left the Thai food on the table in its Styrofoam containers. His parting shot as he closed the door behind him was a thumbs up, and something about ‘the big guy not able to resist the Bartowski charm when he got a look at his apartment’. 

Resistance?

Chuck was tempted to tell him Casey had lost that battle and the war, but he was too busy remembering why Morgan was the best friend a man could ask for. 

He set out two candlesticks on the table and looked down at his clothes. Oh, geez. He was still wearing his Nerd Herd uniform, which did not lend itself to an evening of holiday pleasure. Dashing up the stairs to Casey’s room, he pawed through the corner of one drawer where he kept some extra clothes. The kid held up a burgundy-colored light sweater, shook it out, and found a pair of his jeans in the closet. 

While he dressed, he spotted a bottle of cologne on the bathroom counter and gave himself a small spritz. He came down the stairs and vacuumed the living room hastily, then wiped down the countertops. “Wow. I hope you appreciate all of this,” he said as he hung up his messenger bag and tucked away a small pile of video games that he had left on the floor.

Something was missing. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it … but he sensed that he had overlooked a detail. Besides the darn gift that he still had a few days to figure out. When he set out the bottle of Scotch, his gaze rose to the top of the tree. Nothing but the spindle of the highest branch. Aw, crap. They had forgotten the tree topper.

“Well,” he said. “Ellie’s home. Maybe she’ll have an idea.”

-x-

Casa Awesome  
20 December 2009  
9:02 pm PST

“Are you sure, El?”

“Take it,” she replied. “It was just in the box anyway, and I think it’s adorable what you did. So no argument. It’s yours.”

“But it was the family one, sis. You should have first dibs on it.”

“Obviously, I’m not using it.” Ellie gently shoved the box at his chest, positively beaming at him. “It’s yours now.”

“Fine. I’ll take it – and ah. Get that look off your face,” he said quickly, noticing the pre-squeal features taking over as she held it in. “It’s just a tree. It doesn’t mean we’re having babies or anything.”

“This would be quite a feat, considering ….”

“That neither of us has the plumbing for that. Hilarious one, sis. Okay, are you certain?” He pulled the Shiny-Brite angel out of the cardboard box and held it up. So maybe she was painted plastic, silver and pale blue, but she was still sturdily holding her candles, and more importantly, the guardian angel had presided over many Bartowski Christmases. “Hey. Why didn’t you use her?”

Ellie scanned the Awesome Family tree, crowned with a delicate mercury glass topper. “Well, Honey gave us the one that came from his grandmother, the same one who left him the ring.” She stopped to flash her left hand. “So I couldn’t really say no, could I? Besides, it is beautiful.” 

“Last chance?”

Ellie flashed another smile. “Take it. She’s yours now.”

“Okay. Thanks, El.” He returned the smile and peeked past her at the clock. “Oh. I have to go before –”

“Go, go.” She took his arm and steered him towards the door. “You don’t want to ruin the surprise by not being home.”

“Right. Love you, sis.” He waved a hand, closed the door, and then scooted across the courtyard. God, he was cutting it close. Casey would have to be back any minute. The kid tucked the angel under his arm and pushed the door open –

-– almost cracking into something heavy on the other side.

What? He pushed again, a little harder this time, and the resistance was gone. The door swung on its hinges. Chuck stared. The lights were dim, but there were … people. Strange people stood in the foyer. 

Holy shit. 

“Gah!” Without thinking, Chuck threw his arms up, forcing the angel to take flight. She knocked into the tree and took down a few glass ornaments on the way to the floor. “Don’t move!” His hand swooped out to the side and landed on the first thing he could find to use as a weapon. Chuck waved the framed picture of Ronald Reagan in the air, hopefully with a great deal of menace. “We have loaded guns in the house!”

Fuck! Why was he telling an intruder that? Casey would kick his ass to next week if anyone even came close to his weapons!

A woman came out of the shadows, brows raised. “…the hell? Is Johnnie’s boy-toy threatening us … with a loaded picture frame?” She smirked, one that looked eerily familiar, and strolled in a few more steps. “Put the arms race conservative down and no one gets hurt, eh?”

The kid blinked. With his mind absolutely blank, he could only hear the repetition of a tiny voice, alternately shouting oh, fuck, and retreat! He rubbed his eyes. It didn’t help. 

A sea of luggage, red hair, and sensible cable-knit sweaters had over taken the living room.

The Casey clan gaped back at him. 

“Oh … no.” Not the most heartwarming greeting, true, but it was difficult to choke out anything when dread fluttered in his gut. He felt the walls shrink inward, making it hard to breathe – in part to the sheer number of discarded puffy coats now taking up space in the foyer. 

“I … what are you –” He wet his lips and started again. “I mean, don’t take this the wrong way, but –”

Mother Casey broke from the pack, her statuesque form circling him like the alpha wolf protecting her pups. Those blue eyes sharpened, all those straight lines of her face giving away nothing as she kept her attention fastened to Chuck’s startled face. 

Then,

“Sweet boy! Move your skinny butt over here and get a hug from your Mother Casey!”

Oh, hell.

The only way this could end was very very badly. 

And he was going to kill Casey for this.

-x-End Chapter One The Kin Drops In-x-


	2. The Kin Drops In (Chapter Two)

The Kin Drops In

Chapter Two

-x-

Casey’s Apartment  
20 December 2009  
9:05 pm PST

“Ma, you might want to loosen up on the hug. I don’t think Johnnie’s boy toy is supposed to come in that shade of red.”

Breathe. He should be breathing right now, shouldn’t he? But that would require brain function and lung capabilities, something that had left him the moment Casey’s mother had engulfed him in a hug. This was crazy. He was dreaming – no, a nightmare, and in just a minute, he would wake up, the room would be quiet, the candles flickering, and – ow!

Where the fuck was Casey?!

“Oh, let me see you!” Mother Casey ended the hug but had no intention of letting go. Stepping back, she searched his face, her hands gripping his elbows. “Still handsome. And … skinny,” she added to herself, giving his arms a squeeze. “Is he taking care of you?”

The kid was too busy staring in shock. He nodded dumbly, working up enough saliva to make half-intelligent sounds. “Um. I … I –” The words trailed off when he felt a dreaded oncoming blush under Mother’s inspection. “Take care …? Uh, he does. I mean, he is. I mean –”

His throat closed up. With Mother’s eyes riveted to him, her face filled his vision, giving Chuck a minute to study her just as thoroughly. The Casey’s were tall, no surprise there, and Mother Casey, despite being in her seventies, stood straight as an arrow. Red hair with streaks of grey, attractive lines around her eyes, the family shade of blue. Hell, she hadn’t changed a bit. 

“I’ll be damned.” Maggie Casey-O’Byrne shook her head and gave him a look that made Chuck feel like a slab of rib eye behind the meat counter. Instantly, she smiled and slapped a twenty in her husband’s outstretched hand without breaking eye contact with the kid. “Heh. Looks like I lost that bet. I swore you would’ve either fled by now, or your body would be buried in a shallow grave in the backyard somewhere.” She made a soft noise in her chest, one that sounded like the family grunt. “You’ve got guts, kid.”

“Margaret.” Mother Casey gave the redhead a look of warning. 

“Wow. Th-thanks … I guess,” Chuck stammered, still wide-eyed. Discreetly, he wiped his moist palms on his pant legs and tried to think of a way to change the subject away from his lifeless corpse, and get to the part where there were a hell of lot of people from the Midwest with the last name of Casey standing in his freaking foyer! 

“Danny, can you get the bags out of the way?”

“That’s ... that’s a lot of luggage,” the kid managed, eyes roaming over the pile. “As a minor side note, is it all … staying here?”

“He’s still cute.” Maggie angled her head at him. “I can see why my little brother hasn’t killed you yet.” Now thoroughly enjoying Chuck’s edginess, she strolled in and stopped in front of him. “Let me get a good look at you.” 

“Really, there’s … not much to see…. It’s just –” 

But now that she had moved in – and why did his brain automatically add ‘for the kill?’ – he could reciprocate by appraising her as well. A year later, and she hadn’t changed much either, from what Chuck remembered. Tall, chestnut colored hair down to her shoulders, and a smile that was not to be trusted under any circumstances. 

“Jesus. C’mere, kiddo,” she said, and before he could back up a step, or even think, Chuck felt himself engulfed in another Casey family hug. Strong and long and nothing like what he expected. “Huh.” Maggie pulled back and patted his cheek. “You look good. My brother is actually treating you right. Where is he, anyway?” 

Chuck blinked at her stupidly until he realized she had asked a question. “Oh. Well … he should be here any minute ….”

And he is so dead meat for this!

“Is everything okay – between you two?” Mother Casey asked.

“Of … course. Everything’s great,” Chuck said, forcing a smile. “Just … peachy.”

“Nice to hear, sweetie.” Her brows drew together and she patted the front of his sweater. “It’s just usually, when you’re in a long-term relationship with someone who can cook, well, it should make you fill out a little more, hmm?” 

“Oh. And you know what?” Chuck clapped his hands together with mock enthusiasm. “Speaking of the big guy, I should be calling him right this minute, and find out –”

“I thought John’s place would be sterile. Utilitarian, didn’t you, ma?” Maggie was silent, and Chuck could tell she was considering every inch of the space. “You give the apartment a femin – uh, a softer touch. It looks homey.”

“Oh. I … thanks.” Chuck gave her a puzzled look and straightened his shoulders. “I think.”

Maybe sensing an uncomfortable moment, Dan stepped forward and extended his hand in a manly shake. “Chuck. Good to see you again. My wife means you have a cozy home here.” When Dan released the grip, he gave his son a gentle shove. “You remember Andy, don’t you?”

“Sure. Hey, Andy. Up top.” Chuck raised his hand in a high five that the teen returned. That was one member of the clan that had changed. Still with reddish blonde hair and glasses, that was true enough, but the Casey-gene had kicked in sometime in the past year, and the kid had grown several inches taller since last Christmas. “You’ll catch up to your uncle in no time if you keep that up,” Chuck said, which put a grin on the kid’s face. 

Well. One big happy family. Under one roof. 

Now that the uncomfortable greetings were behind them, Chuck could go back to stewing over the dozen ways he wanted to kick his boyfriend’s ass right now.

Figuratively, anyway. 

Chuck cleared his throat. “Soooo,” he said, rocking back on his heels as he looked from face to face. “What … are you doing here?”

And what the hell was going on?

“Priceline,” Mother Casey replied, crossing to the counter to take in the details of the tiny kitchen. 

Oh, right. That would explain everything.

Not.

“Did you say … what now?” Chuck asked, his fake smile becoming pained.

“Sure, honey. Priceline.” Mother nodded at him, picked up her purse, and began digging through it. “Cheap, last minute travel?” 

“Um,” Chuck said, wondering how tonight could get stranger. “I … really don’t –”

“The cute stocky man from Star Wars?” Mother went on, now continuing her search under a side flap of her purse.

“Star Wars?” Chuck croaked, feeling his hands reflexively make fists. Somewhere, deep in the back of his closet, Yoda was rolling over in his molded protective plastic. “I don’t think –”

“Do they have that here in California?”

“I … think that would be a yes.”

“So, we got a good deal, didn’t we, kids?” Mother noted as she pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. “Okay, now where’s your pantry, sweetie?”

“Well, Casey doesn’t keep – ah.” Crap. In a nervous gesture, Chuck smoothed his hands over his sweater. “Our … pantry? I don’t think we have a pantry, per se –”

“Well.” She exchanged a meaningful glance with Maggie. “Let’s just head to the refrigerator and … cupboard?”

“Thank God. I’m starving,” Andy said. “Can we eat, ma? The smell of that food is making me hungry.”

His parents attempted to shush the kid, but a tiny part of Chuck’s brain finally kicked in, warning him it would be rude to stand there. “You can have some. Really.” He signaled at the take-out boxes Morgan had brought over. “It’s Thai, which means there’s probably enough for three meals in each container, right?”

Wait. Did he just give away all their food to a hungry passel of Caseys?

“Don’t be ridiculous. You need to eat.” Mother Casey led them into the kitchen, opened the fridge, and ducked her head in. “Oh.” A long pause while she perused the shelves. “Okay, Maggie, pencil ready?”

“Yep.”

“A few gallons of milk. Spinach. Greek yogurt –”

“Should we get cottage cheese?”

“Well, it is empty in here, so –”

“Got it.” Maggie scribbled along. “And?”

“A few chickens. Cut up, not whole. Who knows if there’s sharp knife? Bag of potatoes. Eggs ….”

“Mags, while you’re writing,” Danny cut in, “something to make sub sandwiches – for the football games?”

Totally mystified by the audience in his kitchen, Chuck raised his hand. “Is there … something you’re looking for?”

“Never mind, sweetie,” Mother replied, looking behind the ketchup bottle. “Maggie – I’m not seeing fresh fruit, so make a note. Let’s see –”

Maggie waved the paper. “That should get us through the first few days, don’t you think? Because, if we’re heading to the store, we have to get moving if we want to be here when Sherm rolls in.”

“Don’t call him that when he gets here. He hates that,” Mother said, frowning as her eyes skimmed down to her watch. “But you have a point. Now we just need to know where the nearest grocery store is.”

“It’ll just take a second to look it up,” Maggie said, pulling up an app on her phone. “Andy, we’ll stop and get you something on the way.”

“Excuse me.” Chuck raised his hand again. “I do … live here, you know. In Burbank? If you need to find a grocery store –” And please, please let them be a scary hologram and not come back! “– I can tell you where it is.”

“I’m sure you can, sweetie.” Mother inclined her head at him and tapped his cheek. Then a pinch. “So cute.” She turned to her daughter, as calm and composed as Chuck was bewildered. “Okay, Maggie. What do you have?”

“Vons. Passmer Avenue. Oh, what’s this?” While Chuck’s brows rose at being pinched and skinny all rolled up into one patronizing package, Maggie scrolled down the screen on her phone. “Online coupons,” she said. 

“That’s my girl.” Mother, realizing that the luggage still sat piled in the middle of the living room, signaled to the others. “We can figure out sleeping assignments later. Andrew’s hungry, aren’t you hon?”

“Sleep –?” Chuck cleared his throat since his voice had gone up two octaves. “Sleeping assignments?”

A snicker. “Don’t worry, Chuck.” Maggie clapped a hand on his shoulder and gave him a little shake. “We won’t get between you and my brother. Heh. As if he’d let that happen. You won’t even know we’re here.”

Chuck flushed a bright red at the dirty little chuckle and tactfully reached for his cell phone, still on the coffee table. “Ah. Speaking of …. Let me see if I can find –” Him! To kill him!

“Is it a fold out?” Mother asked, nodding at the sofa.

Since the kid was still tumbling the words sleeping arrangements around in his head, Danny scooted by him and lifted the middle cushion. “Yep. Looks like we lucked out,” Maggie’s husband confirmed.

“Why would it not be?” Mother flashed a smile. “I always told my Johnnie to be prepared for any situation.”

“Wait. I ... we have a sleeper sofa?” Chuck blinked. Out of all the features Casey had showcased on that particular couch, the fact that it folded out to a bed was not one of them. 

“So Danny and I will take the fold-out,” Maggie said, “and Andy, I’m sure Uncle John has a sleeping bag. It will be just like camping.”

“Can I sleep in front of the TV?” Andrew asked, checking out the entertainment unit. “Uncle John has an Xbox 360. How cool is that?”

“Oh.” Chuck’s fingers tightened into his palm for the briefest second. “It’s … uh not technically –”

“All right. Here’s the plan.” It was like a flipping a switch, the way Mother Casey could go into Top Dog mode. It was also an extremely scary resemblance. “Danny and Andrew – all the luggage goes up in the spare room to get it out of the way. That will be our base of operations. Chuck, can you show them the room I’ll be staying in?”

Chuck thought it was a show of good etiquette to actually respond to that. He should probably try to make real words and sounds. But the only thing that came to his mind was that Casey would be the one sleeping on the couch. Or the friggin’ spare room!

Mother’s smile became tinged with concern. “Sweetie, are you okay?”

Chuck, somehow by sheer force, pushed down the ball of tangled yarn lodged in his stomach and managed to plaster on a smile. “I’m f-fine. Really.” He held up his phone and waggled it in the air. “And you know what? I’m going to shoot Casey –” Literally “– a quick text … and find out when he’ll be home. So I’ll just … you know … lead the way up the stairs.” The kid wasn’t the smoothest of guys, but now that he was waving vaguely and stuttering like an idiot, he figured this was the clue to leave the room. 

“Oh, thank you, Chuck. Find out where he is,” Mother said. “Good boy.”

Chuck cringed – he was an adult, after all. Did they have to keep dropping hints that it was adorably sweet to have a slight age difference between him and his boyfriend?

“Let’s move, then,” Mother said, directing the show. “Danny and Andrew, when you’re done hauling the luggage, you’ll come with us.”

“Will do,” Danny said, following a few steps behind Chuck. 

The last thing Chuck heard before he headed up was Mother saying politely, “Honey, add some Lemon Pledge to that list, will you?”

Oh, God. 

After he pointed the way to the spare room and let the guys get by with the luggage, his thumbs went to work furiously.

We need to talk!

A half minute later,

Yeah?

Like it when you leave the top button of your jeans undone … you fucking little tease. Keep em like that. Waiting for me.

Chuck gave a panicked look to the side, gauging if Danny and Andrew could see his face go up in flames, but they were still busy finding room for the suitcases.

Not that kind of talking!!

Nothing, so Chuck added,

This is an emergency. I’m not here by myself!

He could almost hear the shift of Casey going into high alert. The phone chirped before Chuck could turn the lock on the bathroom door.

-x-

Casey’s Apartment  
Upstairs  
20 December 2009  
9:48 pm PST

“DEFCON One! No, DEFCON One to the power of ten! You know what? Even that’s not good enough!” Chuck slumped back against the mirror and pushed a hand through his hair. “There’s not a level of situational awareness – Major – that can describe what is happening here!”

“Listen, princess, if you don’t slow down, and tell me what’s going on –”

“Oh. Reallllly.” Chuck’s shoulders stiffened and he sat up a little. From his seat on the countertop, his long legs dangled, not quite touching the floor – which seemed to highlight the fact he didn’t appreciate being referred to as a boy and a princess all within the past five minutes. “You want me to tell you?” he hissed into the phone. “Like this wasn’t your idea?”

“I’m a little busy here with something I like to call a matter of national security, kid,” and he heard Casey let out an exasperated sigh. “So if you don’t start making sense –”

“Your mother! Your sister!” Chuck burst out. “Am I making sense now?”

“No. What about my mother?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” The sarcasm he was trying to keep in check began to bleed through the phone. “A few minutes ago, the twin she-wolves catalogued our refrigerator and noted the suspicious lack of Super Foods!”

“Eh?”

“That’s right! And they just moved enough luggage to transport one of your military operations into your spare bedroom!”

A long, stretched-out silence. “It’s not like you, kid, but I have to ask: have you been drinking tonight?”

“I don’t believe this conversation!” Chuck tipped his head back against the mirror and closed his eyes. “No!”

“Knock your noggin?” Despite the growly tone, a little hint of worry crept into his voice. “Have a flash?”

“A flash? Are you listening to me? More like a damn nightmare!” God, his boyfriend could put on the act of innocence when duty called. “Like you didn’t know? How can you sit there and act like you’re just as surprised as I am?!” 

“Can you just shut the hell up and list –”

“Though surprised isn’t quite what I’m feeling.” Chuck’s hand raked his dark hair again. “No, that makes it sound like a present. I think this goes more under the category of shocked-with-the-weight-of-blood-sucking-hounds-of-hell if you have to label –”

“God,” Casey groused away from the phone. “I can’t believe we went from getting you stripped down –”

“Hold on,” Chuck broke in, fighting back yet more heat on his neck. “I never agreed to that –”

“– to this in five seconds flat –”

“You had to know!” Chuck picked up a comb that was lying on the counter and gave it a little toss in disgust. “Do you really think I’m an idiot?”

Casey had to detect the swing from freak-out to seriousness. He seemed to relax, let out a breath. “You’re a lot of things, Bartowski, but an idiot isn’t one of them. Now pull your head out and tell me where you’re going with this.”

“Last night? After your drive-thru sex on the sofa?” Shit. That slipped, and it probably wasn’t fair. Chuck hadn’t exactly complained about it when Casey had his dick in his mouth. 

So rightfully, he could almost see his lover sit up taller and bristle. “I’m still waiting for the part where any of this makes sense,” Casey said. “What the hell are you getting at, tiger?”

“I heard you talking to your mother,” Chuck told him, looking sullenly at the floor and thankful Casey wasn’t there to see him like this. “Right before I was kicked out last night.” 

“I thought you wouldn’t want to hear that,” Casey answered, forcing the answer between stiff lips.

“Yes. Because – newsflash! They scare the shit out of me! Your sister especially.” 

“Can they hear you? You know they have ears like bats.” 

“They left for the store – I’m locked in the bathroom – and aha!” He jumped off the counter and began pacing across the tile floor. “You believe me! You know I’m not making this up.”

“Yeah, about that. A second ago, when you mentioned my sister, and your voice went up like a man with his nuts in a vice?”

“Oh.” Chuck winced. “Ouch. Thanks for the nice visual.”

“Yeah, well, only Maggie can have that effect, so – Christ. I believe you.”

“And the reason I was banished last night was that you were making plans you didn’t want me to hear. It’s obvious, isn’t it? Maybe airport or car rental arrangements? Oh, wait I got it. Warn the TSA not to turn the Casey Cartel back at the state line?”

Casey grunted, the noise telling the kid his lover would be mightily tempted to stalk over and grab his throat if the ‘No Violence Against the Intersect or your Boyfriend Policy’ were not imposed. Chuck was suddenly thankful for the confines of a surveillance van miles away. 

“Seems to me,” Casey said, his voice settling into a lower register, “a minute ago we were talking about believing the truth. Guess with you that’s just a one way street, eh, Bartowski?” 

“Point,” the kid huffed, massaging his temple. He sat down on the countertop again and lowered his head. “If you say you didn’t know, then fine, I believe you.” He stared at his stocking feet and added, “I’m sorry, okay?”

Casey grunted, thinking about it. “After that Cartel comment,” he said, “I’ll just be thinking of the dozen ways you’ll be apologizing for not trusting me ….”

“Well, another bit of news. Your mother is staying in the guest room, and since this apartment has walls as thick as spit and Kleenex, there won’t be any apologizing or other words that end in ing going on for the next few days. 

“Ah, fuck,” he muttered.

“Yeah, well, bingo,” Chuck answered in the same tone. His shoulders sagged as he glanced at the door, wondering what the time limit might be for hiding out in Casey’s bathroom. “Now please, get home.” 

“Well, officially, since today’s surveillance was a bust, that’s not going to be an issue.” Meaning, no shooting. And that chafed his ass. A lot, from the sounds of it. “Seems that whoever caused the lights and buzzers to go off in your noggin is going to make us work from the inside.” He paused while Chuck heard the shuffling of equipment. “I’ll be bugging out in five.”

“Okay, but a word of advice?” Chuck leaned back and put his feet up on the counter, wrapping one arm around his knees. 

“Yeah?” was the growl in reply.

“Though I do think it’s … well, kinda hot, you might want to remove the overabundance of fire power I’m sure you have strapped to your body before you get in.”

“Why’s that?” Casey asked, confirming he was indeed armed to the teeth.

“Well,” Chuck said, starting to smile. “Their plan is to beat you back here so they can meet you at the door… and I’m not certain a switchblade, a flamethrower, or a flask of nerve gas actually conveys the spirit of Christmas.”

“Eh.” By the sounds of it, the big guy wasn’t quite convinced, but he wisely let it go.

Casey’s Apartment  
Still Upstairs  
20 December 2009  
10:28 pm PST

He knew he should be listening to the logical part of his brain, and go right back downstairs. In fact, hiding in Casey’s bathroom was not what a grown man who had defused bombs and been dropped from buildings should be doing – but on the other hand, those acts of heroism had nothing on facing down the Caseys. 

“Okay, just his mother …,” the pep talk rang in his head. “That’s all. C’mon …. You can do this.” Chuck put his hand on the knob. “And his sister. His red-headed soul of a demon sister. Oh, God.” He rubbed his neck and cocked his head, listening. It sounded empty and quiet downstairs. Idiot. He’d have to let go of the safe haven eventually, wouldn’t he?

“Let’s do this,” he said to the guy in the mirror. Cautious, the kid trudged down the hall and stairs, bracing himself for a swarm of hugs or questions, but he was alone. For now, anyway.

Chuck gave a quick scan of the apartment, and his stomach bottomed out. Sure, he had done a half-way decent job of giving the place some holiday cheer, but the spyware – most of it anyway – was still visible to anyone who looked hard enough. And Mother Casey and Maggie were the type that would notice files marked ‘Top Secret – Eyes Only’ lying on the desk, or better yet, surveillance photos of the Buy More and its employees tacked to the wall. 

“Oh, crap.” Chuck could hear Casey’s grumbly order in his head to get his ass in gear and hide this shit before they returned from the store. 

“Not my fault,” he argued to the voice. Quickly, he pulled down the pictures, hid the files, and tidied up Casey’s decorative ‘knick knacks’ – a sniper rifle and high-powered scope, neat stacks of cartridges, and maybe something that looked like a mini grenade launcher. “Sorry, Casey,” the kid said to himself. But he couldn’t let them see the place decked out in Modern Industrial Assassin chic. 

As Chuck lined up the last of the miscellaneous instruments of death, he heard voices trickling in from the courtyard. “Here we go,” he mumbled. He turned with an innocent smile, dragged a few fingers through his waves, and tried to ignore the sweat trickling between his should blades.

The horrible thought struck him. Ellie. What if she was in the courtyard? And oh my God, what was his sister going to say when she met –

“There he is. My sweet boy.” Mother beamed at him from the doorway. “Look who we found parking his car.” In the midst of white plastic bags full of groceries and bodies crowded in the foyer, Chuck watched as his boyfriend was steered over the threshold.

“Jesus. Air, please, will ya?” Casey grumbled, attempting to worm out of his mother’s grip on his forearm. “Anyone ever tell you not to sneak up on a man in a dark parking lot?” Especially one who drove a car equipped with a missile launcher, Chuck thought. “Like a damn ambush out there.”

He was in a good mood, too, by the sounds of it. Since Chuck was still annoyed with his holiday surprise being usurped by the Caseys, not to mention the lingering doubts of his boyfriend’s involvement in this spectacle, he had to say, “Hey John. Did your sister get the drop on you?” 

Maggie laughed, and because she had Casey’s other arm, she pulled her little brother into the living room to stand in the hub of the circle. “Who knew a man this size could jump like a rabbit, eh?”

“Maggie, shush.” Mother Casey turned him to face her, her eyes becoming wet, and engulfed her son in an oxygen-sapping hug. “God, you big dummy,” she said softly, holding him. “Why do you never come home?”

It twisted Chuck’s heart in his chest to hear her say it. He kept his eyes on Casey’s face, watching the aggravated look diminish, the tautness of his muscles along his neck give in to the embrace. “Ma, you know I would if it wasn’t for –”

“Your job. Your place here. I know, I know.” The fear of letting go made her hold him tighter. “What I don’t know is why the military doesn’t give you more leave, Johnnie. You’ve certainly earned it, haven’t you?” Chuck noticed she softened the question by giving him a kiss on the cheek. “Twenty-four years?”

“Still having a hard time breathing here.” Casey managed a small smile, giving one last squeeze before stepping away. “It doesn’t work like that, Mother.”

“Hi, John.” His brother-in-law extended a hand for a handshake, looking apologetic for the intrusion. “It wasn’t my idea. You’ll have to talk to your sister about that.” 

Casey narrowed his eyes briefly at Maggie in a look that guaranteed he would. “Andrew,” he said, turning to his nephew. Chuck expected to see him ruffle the kid’s hair or punch him in the gut playfully as he had the year before. But the kid had shot up in height, and though his boyfriend had very little practice at being an uncle, Casey sensed he should hold out his hand for a handshake. “Let’s see what you got, kid. Remember, firm. None of that pu – wussy stuff.” 

“Hey, Uncle John,” Andrew said, purposely putting some muscle into it.

Casey grunted his approval. When he let go, he folded his arms over his chest. “Well, now that the happy horseshit is out of the way,” he said, eyeing his kin, “who’s gonna be the one to explain –”

“Not so fast,” Maggie said, moving in front of her brother. “My turn. Let me get a look at you.” Her lively blue eyes took in every inch of him, enjoying how it made her brother tense to be scrutinized like this. “Huh. Being in a long-term relationship seems to be working for you, little brother.” A hand came up to ruffle his hair. “Oh, you’re still a hard ass, but I can see something softer there. Chuck has chipped away at a layer or two of that sheet rock, hasn’t he?”

Oh. That had to be a world record. So many things to piss him off in one succinct interchange. Chuck did, however, appreciate the fact that now all eyes were turned to his boyfriend, and if he wanted to do a little ogling himself, he could without getting caught.

Damn. Casey stood tall in the center of the circle, still wearing his mission black – which meant a clingy t-shirt rode on the slope of his chest, accentuating everything under it and why the hell did the Caseys have to pick now to show up? God! They should be having ‘look I surprised you with dinner and decorations for Christmas sex’, but instead, he had to stand here and fight the urge to –

“Everything, okay, sweetie?” Mother asked. She brought up her palm to Chuck’s forehead. “You don’t have a fever do you?”

“Um, n-no. I was just –” Thinking of the twenty-five ways he’d like to be arrested by the law enforcement officer in the room! Who happens to be her son? Shit. “–th-thinking I need a glass of water.”

“Honey, did we bring a thermometer?” Mother directed that to her daughter.

“Ma, you’re embarrassing him.” Maggie rolled her eyes and snickered as she helped spread out the fast food bags on the table. “He’s turning that shade of pink again.”

Casey lumbered past them and slid an arm around Chuck’s waist, backing him up a step. “Give the kid some air, too. He hasn’t been trained to withstand the two-pronged attack.” 

Mother Casey slapped his arm and gave him a mock affronted look. “We’ll catch up with him later.” She turned to her brood. “First, Andy is starving, so let’s see what’s in the bags. Danny, can you find a few extra chairs?” 

Like that, Maggie unloaded the grease-spotted bags and passed out the hamburgers, French fries, drinks. The Caseys settled into the seats and began talking and digging in. 

Curious observers, Casey and Chuck stood off to the side in the living room. They kept their eyes on them, giving his family confused looks though none of them where paying attention at the moment. “Let me guess,” Casey rumbled quietly out the side of his mouth. “They haven’t explained anything yet and they’re acting like this is standard operating procedure.”

“Nope and yep,” Chuck replied, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Hey.” Casey nudged his shoulder. “What’s all of this?” 

Chuck’s forehead crinkled. “The reason you never put a return address on a birthday card to your family?”

“Jesus,” Casey said, tilting a brow in the direction of the tree. “I meant that.” 

“Boys? Are you going to come and eat?”

“In a minute, Ma.” Casey lowered his voice. “Well?”

“Don’t say it, okay?” Chuck waved him off before Casey could bitch about plastic tree needles on his living room rug or his gun case being decorated with faux fur. “I thought … I would surprise you, that’s all. You can see how that went.” The kid snorted softly to himself. “Anyway, you can yell at me later, okay?”

Sliding his arm around him tighter from behind, Casey let his hand drift over the curve of his butt. And putting his hips firmly against his jeans, he let Chuck feel the hot swell in his pants, pressed to his denim-covered ass. “I … like it,” he growled against his curls. “You did okay.”

“Ca-sey…. not now,” the kid said between his teeth.

But post-mission John Casey had a penchant for burning off post-mission tension, so instead, he leaned into him, his nose brushing Chuck’s cheek, breath barely grazing his ear, and whispered, “Fever, Bartowski? I got the cure for that.”

Chuck managed to withhold his gape and keep a casual look on his face. “You are a cheesy asshole for that line and, oh, by the way, I hate you right now.” He did that without moving his jaw. “And your family.”

Casey grunted, copped a proprietary feel by digging into a taut buttock, and headed for the table.

-x-

Casey’s Apartment  
20 December 2009  
11:02 pm PST

Insane. This was freaking insane. Sitting around their table way past dinnertime, fast food wrappers crumpled alongside the decent china Chuck had set out, and everyone acting like this was normal. That the Caseys dropped in from the Midwest all the time, and no one should question it, or wonder why they hadn’t warned the Western seaboard, for fuck sakes! 

So many gaps in national security. No wonder his country needed a nerd from an electronics store with a computer in his head to save it. 

“So what does your family – the sister you mentioned last time – think of John?” Maggie was asking around the bite of her burger. “You know, not the polite rhetoric. I mean the kind of stuff she tells you when he’s not around.”

Chuck coughed up a bean sprout. “Oh, sorry! So sorry!” He coughed again, and began to use his napkin as a mop around his plate. “That was … h-h-hot.” Now he cleared his throat. “I don’t know … exactly ….”

“She must say something. He’s not the easiest person to get to know.”

“Well, I … don’t think … are you really – ow.” A large hand landed on Chuck’s thigh, fingertips biting into the flesh. The shut the hell up signal. “You know, you probably don’t want to hear –” 

“That’s it,” Casey said coolly. “Enough of the chit-chat.” Well. Finally, Chuck thought. Major John Casey had arrived to the party, wearing the no-bullshit look that said he was now going to get some answers. “Why are you here?”

“Your sister,” Mother replied, stealing a fry from Andy. “She said you like surprises.”

“Really,” Casey observed without looking at her. “Because I hate surprises.”

“That tells me something, Johnnie.” Maggie grinned at her little brother and took another bite of her burger. “The kid still hasn’t gotten you to … lighten up completely, has he? Wear down some of those tough edges?”

Casey shot her a look. “You. I’m ignoring for now.” His eyes cut to his mother. “That’s it. You just decided to make the trip. Not … that I’m not pleased, Ma, it’s just that I didn’t make … arrangements for work or –” 

“Well, that’s not it entirely.” Mother Casey held up a hand and smiled at Maggie. “Your sister had a last minute opportunity she couldn’t miss. She was invited to present her research to a team here. I know you don’t believe this, John, but your big sister is a brilliant scientist and teacher.”

“Mom, they don’t want to hear this,” Maggie said. “Besides, there were three of us chosen to present, which means there will be a down selection before any grants are awarded.” She leaned back in her chair, exchanging looks with first Casey, then Chuck. “Can we get back to the topic of your son you never get to see, and his much younger boyfriend we barely know?”

Mother Casey rolled her eyes at her. “I’ll tell you if she won’t. If they like her work, she may get funding and lead a team –” 

“God help them,” Casey muttered. Setting his fork down, he pushed his plate away. “Research in what?”

“Oh, I know.” Chuck’s mouth acted before the rest of him. So did the hand he had raised in the air. To his credit, however, he lowered it quickly when Maggie and Casey turned to give him quizzical looks. “Last year? Didn’t you say you study behavioral science … and neurobiological processes …?”

“Huh.” An inquisitive half-smile curled Maggie’s lip. “Yes … that’s right. I mentioned it. But still … fascinating.” She arched a brow at her brother and chuckled. “Your boyfriend must have a database in his head to remember those things.”

Casey gave her a bland stare, though the shut the hell up hand was digging into his thigh again. “Yeah. But he forgets to put gas in a car and how to rinse a plate after a bag of Pizza Rolls, so you figure it out,” he deadpanned. “This means you’ll be here –?”

“Until the day after Christmas,” Mother Casey answered. “We can’t wait to meet Chuck’s sister … your friends, go to your office. What was the name of the company, sweetie?”

“Uh,” Chuck said, taking a bite to cover his silent plea of help.

“Lockheed Martin,” Casey filled in, using his ‘officer’ voice. “Yeah, Chuck will be happy to show you his cushy office. While the rest of us are out saving their asses.” 

Great. On one hand, he was thankful Casey remembered that detail, but on the other hand, did he have to be the geek for every cover they had?

Oh, and what office? 

“I’m beat.” Danny placed his arm along the back of his wife’s chair and rubbed her neck. “Mags, what time is it?”

“Well, past midnight in Illinois.” Maggie peered into the living room as the Caseys got up from the table. “Can we set up the sofa bed? Oh, and Johnnie, we need a sleeping bag.”

“I’ll get right on it,” Casey said, not hiding a trace of irritation at being ordered around by his sister. When they began removing the cushions, he slipped his arm along the back of Chuck’s seat, ruffling his fingers through the curls over his collar. “You okay?” he asked quietly.

“Please don’t leave me alone with them.”

“Why?” Casey asked, smirking at the obviousness.

“They … frankly scare the hell out of me.”

“How long were you alone with them?”

“About a half hour or so,” Chuck admitted.

Casey snorted. “Still got all your fingernails?”

“I … last time I checked.” Chuck’s brows creased, perplexed. “Why?”

“Unwanted tooth drilling with a Dremel?”

“God, no!”

“Hit with a cattle prod, or shot up with sodium pentothal under a 200 watt heat lamp?”

Chuck opened his mouth to protest this line of questioning, but gave in. “I think I’d remember something like that.”

“Still have your snowballs intact?” Casey asked.

“What?”

“Cojones?”

“Um,” Chuck started. He was proud that he stopped himself before looking down. “It seems the window of opportunity for your family to torture relationship Intel out of me was too short. Your point?”

“Well, if you still have all of those things after spending ten minutes alone with them,” Casey said, “just be thankful.”

“Oh.” The fork snapped, making Chuck realize he might’ve been gripping it too tight. Cold terror would do that to a man.

“Everything okay?” Mother asked from the living room.

“Sure. Fine. Hunky dory,” Chuck said, wanting to kill himself.

“Good boy. I’ll be right back.” The men watched from their seats as Mother Casey went up the stairs, most likely to check out the sleeping arrangements.

When she disappeared from view, Chuck finally let the sulking face he’d been holding back for the past hour emerge. “John?”

Casey angled around to face him, raising a brow at the use of his first name. 

“If that’s where your mother is sleeping for the next five nights, then you don’t have to worry at all about my cojones.” Leaning away, he pried Casey’s hand from his leg and gave it back to him. “They’ll be tucked away safely for the duration.”

Casey made a guttural noise deep in his chest. Chuck pegged it somewhere between a very bad curse, and wanna bet?

The last part was much more worrisome.

-x-

Casa Awesome  
Chuck’s Bedroom  
20 December 2009  
11:47 pm PST

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Wh-what – God!” Chuck snapped up, lunging for the comic book that had flown from his hands, thanks to a very large interruption abruptly entering through the Morgan Door. From his sprawled-out position on the top blanket, he took a moment to glare and compose himself. “Why do you keep doing that? We had the talk and everything. I’m only asking for a warning or a greeting – even a flare from the courtyard – before you come barging through my window!”

“Is your sister home?” Casey went on, oblivious that Chuck had spoken. “Awesome?”

Chuck glanced at his bedroom door, safely closed, but lowered his voice anyway. “She’s here – and hopefully still sound asleep. She has the early shift tomorrow.” Confused, he blinked up at his boyfriend and settled back against his pillows. “What’s going on?”

“What are you doing here?” Casey asked, moving in closer to the bed.

“Wow. We have to stop doing that. You see, I asked a question – a few of them actually – but instead of answering, you keep asking me questions where the answer should be obvious.” Chuck flapped the comic book. “I needed some downtime tonight with some vintage Sandman after the Attack of the Caseys. Soooo, when your family began settling in for the night, I snuck home and got ready for bed. Simple.” 

Casey crossed his arms as he studied him. “Suitcase?”

“What?”

“I’m asking if you have a suitcase, Bartowski,” he said, sounding perturbed.

“Uh, well, no.” Chuck’s eyes widened. He knew that look. Combat Mode Casey? Where had this come from? And though he had witnessed it dozens of times, it was rarely – or never – directed at him. Except for now. “Ellie stores a few of hers under her bed – and you cannot go in there.”

Casey rolled his eyes. Without so much as a word, he stalked to Chuck’s desk, heaped with white plastic shopping bags where Ellie kept extra wrapping paper and bows, and unceremoniously dumped the contents of one onto the floor. “This will work.” He flicked his wrist to air it out and faced him squarely. “Clothes.”

“I … what?” The kid suddenly found his hands perspiring, his eyes flicking a nervous glimpse to his striped cotton drawstring pants. Normally Casey meant start shucking them or he would. “You didn’t … this isn’t one of your, um … let me use the delicate term here – booty calls, is it? 

“English, Bartowski,” Casey demanded even as he pulled open one of his drawers and began pawing through it. 

“We talked about that, too, you know. Your visits?” Chuck tossed the comic book to the side and sat up. “One of your text messages … maybe a phone call? A night time raid of the compound, Major? The kind that doesn’t include dinner, or a movie – maybe… a little deep conversation about our –”

“Eh.”

“Well, okay – it doesn’t have to include that,” Chuck corrected, his brown eyes brooding. “But something besides, get over here, I need to unload my cartridge?”

Casey looked up long enough to flash a smirk. “I never said that.” 

“True. You didn’t.” Chuck slanted a look to the side, picked up his cell phone from his night stand, and waved it at him. “It was a text. Do you want to read it?”

“Does this look like a booty-call, kid?” Casey asked without looking away from the next drawer he dug through. Then a mutter, “God, don’t you organize?”

Wow. Chuck had to take a moment to admire the avoidance technique. But before he could comment, the affront to his personal boundary finally registered. “No, I – hey!” The kid’s mouth slowly fell open. “Wait a minute – are those my boxers? What are you doing?”

Casey answered by moving on to his t-shirt drawer. The flimsy plastic bag was filling up by the minute.

Chuck scowled. “Okay, this is what I’m talking about. Right here. I still need to know what’s going on, and – whoa. Those are my good jeans – what are you doing with those?”

“Nerd shirts?”

“They’re hanging in the closet – wait.” Chuck flopped back on his pillows, knowing he felt damned indignant over this latest violation of his privacy. “I didn’t mean to – where are you going?”

From inside his closet, he heard hangers sliding over the cross bar, the rustle of fabric meeting the inside of the plastic bag. Casey emerged a moment later, stuffing the legs of black Nerd pants into the space that was left in the strained sack. “Roger that. We can come back for anything else later.”

Chuck stared, and bit his tongue over the ten things that were getting ready to roll. “Casey?”

“Ah, right. Socks,” Casey said, shoving a few pairs into the last bit of room. “Now let’s go.”

The kid didn’t move. “John,” he replied, and even though his lover lacked certain skills in the communication department – that might be a bit of an understatement – he seemed to know that Chuck meant business. “You need tell me what’s going on. I deserve to know why my … handler is acting like a crazy man.”

“That so, kid?” Casey’s distinct growl told him he didn’t appreciate the mental assessment. “Let’s start with this,” he said, sauntering in leisurely with the sack over his shoulder. “Do you remember last Christmas?”

“Okay. Trick question. I was kidnapped by the NSA, taken to a location I had no knowledge of, and foisted upon your … terrifyingly Midwestern family as your long-term boyfriend. So, yes. I would say that last Christmas will be forever stamped in a very scary place in my mind.” With a small smile, Chuck brought up a hand and brushed his fingers over his boyfriend’s forearm, back and forth a few times. “Not the last part. That, I liked. A lot actually.”

“Good.” Casey let his expression relax and leaned in, nose to nose. “Then you remember the … status of our ….” He looked down at Chuck and made circles with one of his fingers. Meaning, fill this in for me.

“Uh, is relationship the word your mouth is struggling to form, so you’re using your …finger?

“Yeah. That. The cover story we had to tell them?” 

“Well, yes … I guess I do….” Chuck faltered, not wanting to finish the thought since he began to see where this was going.

“And?” Casey put pressure on his elbow.

“Okay, yes,” he blurted. “We’re in a long-term relationship – according to them. The kind where they were picking out china patterns last year. And they wanted to know if I thought you would look good in a baby blue ascot and cummerbund.”

“What’d you tell them?” Casey wanted to know, a smug grin tugging his lip.

“Very funny,” Chuck said. “Can you sit down?”

Casey lowered his chin, taking in every inch of Chuck’s easy sprawl – his long legs and rumpled sleep pants, his narrow hips and chest – then pushed gently on his thigh to make room. “Scoot.”

Chuck obediently slid over, feeling Casey’s hip press to his leg when he sat next to him on the bed. The kid let out a breath and began to absently trace his thumb along his boyfriend’s thigh. “So here it is,” he said. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but you can listen, can’t you?”

Casey glanced over and said nothing, which Chuck took as a good sign. 

“Good.” Chuck nudged his knee playfully, something he knew he could get away with, but kept his voice sober. “If our relationship was complicated before they got here – the sneaking around, the game of hide and seek with Beckman, well, now? With your family here, it makes complicated look like ….” He shook his head, searching. “Downloading an expansion pack.”

“What?”

“A piece of cake.”

“Then say that.”

“You’re missing the point,” Chuck said.

“Then get to it.”

“Okay, fine.” Chuck wet his dry lips and drew back his hand. “I know you can’t say it, so I’m just going to put it out there,” he said. “Our relationship is light years along in their minds. But we both know … in reality, it’s nowhere close to that.” When Casey opened his mouth, Chuck lifted a palm to stop him. “And I’m not blaming anyone, but as long as I’m the Intersect and you’re my handler, that’s the way it is. I get it, okay?” 

Casey bit down on his lip, his eyes narrowing. He had his attention now. “Then why’re you here, instead of back there?” he asked at last, nodding towards his apartment.

“Because I don’t want to play the part in front of them.” Chuck huffed, reclined back on the pillow with a soft thump. “I want to be honest about this. For once. We’re lying to the General, the people we work with at the Buy More, your family – hell, half the time I can’t even remember which lie I have to live up to.”

“Keep your voice down.” When Casey leaned over him, putting one hand on each side of Chuck’s hips, he had to swallow hard. “It’s the cover,” Casey growled, and the kid could almost hear the ‘and that’s the end of it’.

Chuck jolted up. “A cover?”

“Not what I meant,” Casey said. “This is real.”

“Really? You do realize, this means our cover is a healthy relationship – and our real relationship is something I can’t describe without a hand drawn map and 3-D stick figures.”

“This had better have a damn point in a minute.”

“Fine.” Shifting back to gain some breathing room, Chuck folded his arms over his chest and put on his most adamant expression. “It’s this: I think you need to go back in there, –” 

“Me?” Casey said, starting to look pissed. “Alone.”

“Yes, you. Alone. You need to tell them that a few months ago, I moved back in with my sister – so that we could have some time to sort out the next steps of our relationship –”

“Oh, fuck me running,” he heard Casey mumble to himself, then listened as he added a few other indistinguishable curses, figuring that didn’t quite do it justice. 

“And that we’re taking it slow for awhile.”

“Slow, eh?” Boxed in by his thick arms, Chuck had no place to go. He could only stare up into an ice blue gaze that was nearly a classified weapon in itself. “You think … that’s a good idea?” Casey asked.

“Y-yes. Yes, I do.”

“You also think it’s a good idea to break Mother’s heart?”

“Break – are you –?” Chuck wrinkled his nose. The fact that Casey thought this abrupt change in their status would hurt his mother sent a surge of sticky yet wildly conflicting emotions to his gut. “Oh-kay, a few things here,” Chuck answered. “One, I need to point out that being concerned about upholding your Mother’s belief in a lie is, well, the definition of a cover.”

“Sometimes you have to tell them things to keep them happy … safe,” Casey said. “You don’t think so? Maybe we should wake up Ellie and run that theory by her.”

“God, I hate it when you’re logical.” Chuck had to frown at him and sink back further. Because now, with Casey this close, with how masculine he smelled, the warmth from his skin, it took him a minute to remember he was in the middle of a debate. “Well. On the other hand, I can’t help but be … flattered, I guess, that you think it would break her heart – not that I want to do that. And now that I think about it, it probably has more to do with a hot-shot software developer who works at … um –”

“Lockheed-Martin.” With the weariness of someone who had sat in a surveillance van all day, Casey pinched the bridge of his nose. “For Chrissakes, get that straight before we go back in there.”

“But don’t you get it?” Chuck hooked his hand onto Casey’s collar, just a touch of bare skin, then moved his hand over the taut cloth of his shirt. “That’s not me. I have nothing to do with the reason Mother likes a successful engineer who managed to hogtie her son into domestication.”

Casey stared at him until Chuck felt his teeth fillings begin to melt. “That’s it.” Taking the hand that had slid down his chest, his boyfriend tightened his grip around it. “Kid?” he said.

Uh-oh. Normally, that particular gaze led to things way more fun than the million alternatives implied at the moment. 

“Can I … have my ….” Chuck started, trying to free his wrist from the restraint. But Casey didn’t so much as budge. “I see you’re trying to make a point,” the kid said in a rush, “which you’re doing very well, I might add – but I –”

“See that window?” Casey tilted his head at it without taking his eyes from Chuck’s startled face.

“I think I’m familiar with my window, so yes.”

“Good,” Casey said. His voice got throaty, and he pressed in within an inch or two. “You have a choice. Either get your bony ass off this bed and walk out there, or –”

“I’m not going to like this part, I can tell –”

“I will throw you over my shoulder,” his crazy-ass boyfriend went on, “and carry you over there. Copy?”

Chuck tensed, sliding one hand down to grab a pillow. Like that would stop him. “Oh. A … choice? That’s not …. Really, Casey, if you say it back to yourself? It doesn’t sound like a –”

“Major Casey.” The General’s voice, dry and unamused, from the vicinity of the foot of the bed. 

Shit, shit, shit.

Neither man had to turn around to verify what they knew. That General Beckman was beaming in from Washington, and her steely mien was currently splashed over Chuck’s flat screen TV in forty-six inches of high def clarity.

Chuck winced, though he was thankful for Casey blocking his view of the TV. Only for the reason he was certain her dire look alone would have made him wet himself. 

Now this, he thought, sinking back into the pillows, may give the impression that Major John Casey had been a naughty boy this year. The lump of coal would go nicely with his dishonorable discharge and prison time in a federal lock-up for conducting independent training sessions with his asset. 

Oh, hell.

On the bright side, being hauled bodily out the window and tossed back into the Casey family snake pit would apparently have to wait.

Chuck had approximately three interminable seconds to stare into Casey’s cast iron face before the NSA agent straightened, rising off the bed to face his boss. 

-x-End The Kin Drops In Chapter Two -x-


	3. The Kin Drops In (Chapter Three)

The Kin Drops In

Chapter Three

-x-

Casa Awesome  
Chuck’s Bedroom  
20 December 2009  
12:03 am PST

“Ma’am.” Casey turned as he stood, assuming his athletic stance. Giving it enough bland innocence to carpet the room. “If this is about the mission today, the surveillance was a dead end.”

Beckman eyed him. “Yes. It is,” she said, sitting ramrod straight. “Interesting. When I couldn’t reach you through the usual methods, I decided to check in with your asset to determine if he knew of your whereabouts.” A long pause as her hazel eyes pinpointed one man, then the other, her look sliding briefly into condemnation. “Perhaps your asset’s bedroom was the first place I should’ve checked.” 

The translation? Chuck had no problem picking up on that. Someone in the room with a military rank had better start talking, while the person who could barely leave the house without getting kidnapped, tossed in a trunk, or poisoned should choose this moment to keep his mouth sealed.

For once, maybe she had a point there. 

“General,” Casey began, one hand wrapped around his wrist as he stood rigid – typical hard ass, giving away nothing. The signal for Chuck to keep quiet was relayed succinctly by Casey moving a step closer to the screen. “There has been an … inadvertent revision to the asset’s cover, Ma’am. I was forced to find a private location to brief him on the implications of this … change.” 

“Explain.” 

“I’m trying to get it through the asset’s thick skull that he needs to cooperate – by resuming our cover established last year. With my family.”

Chuck had to bite his tongue over the belittling comment, though in a faraway part of his mind, he admired Casey for what he had just pulled off. And perhaps when he got over being pissed at the role of screw-up, defiant asset in this scenario, he’d congratulate him for it. 

“Your family,” Beckman repeated, now appearing to be halfway placated by Casey’s explanation. “The Caseys are in Burbank?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Casey replied. “I’m certain you recall my mother and sister’s unfortunate conclusion last year. When I returned home … coerced to bring the asset in tow.” Chuck noticed it straight off, the way Casey’s tone conveyed his bitter resentment. An Oscar-worthy performance, really, John. “And regrettably, they saw the asset on their arrival in the courtyard. His presence made it impossible to dissuade them of last year’s conjecture.”

General Beckman scanned his face before trapping the asset with her gaze. “Mr. Bartowski,” she said, making Chuck decide on the spot her eyes were as effective as a laser sight. “What else did you say to them?”

Wait a second. Was that trust in her tone? 

Now that the attention was on him, Chuck inconspicuously slid the comic book under his knees, hoping the General had yet to register her precious Intersect filling any pint-sized corners of his brain with the exploits of the Sandman. 

“General, I didn’t have a chance to say anything,” Chuck argued, deciding to give this part of the story a dose of reality. “It was, well, a sneak attack. The Caseys apparently are trained in covert military tactics, maybe of a lost evil Empire –”

“Bartowski,” Casey said without moving his mouth. A warning to cease and desist. 

Chuck wavered. In theory, he could get in a few more jabs at the Caseys with his boyfriend duty-bound to stand there and listen. But he couldn’t help but notice his lover had moved into parade rest, hands safely concealed behind his back – which allowed him to make a dire slicing motion with just his finger and thumb.

It was unnerving how he could do that. Packing so much threat into such relatively small appendages.

“You know, General? I’ve made my opinion known to Major Casey on the coming of the body snatchers, so, I’m good here.” 

The middle finger, subtly hidden on his lower back, indicated his boyfriend didn’t appreciate his family being lumped in with pod people.

“Very well, Mr. Bartowski.” Her eyes dismissed him from further dialogue. “Major, you have wisely ascertained that the cover needs to be protected,” the General informed him as she surveyed her agent. “Once again, your country thanks you for the tremendous – yet admittedly unusual – sacrifices you’ve had to make to protect your asset, and more importantly, the security of our nation.”

Oh, brother. It took every ounce of willpower Chuck had not to eye roll at the extent of such flexible sacrifices his vaunted handler had made in the service of Uncle Sam. 

“Yes, Ma’am. Thank you.” When Chuck dared a look at his boyfriend’s back, he detected Casey’s thumb and finger were now getting a little help from another finger, making a snarky yet wholly obscene gesture for the kid’s benefit. 

Chuck barely remembered he should keep his mouth from gaping. He recovered with a thinly-veiled coughing fit and turned an impressive shade of maroon. 

That arrogant bastard.

“I’m afraid the arrival of your family also complicates the current operation,” Beckman said.

Casey finished the lewd motions and brought his thumb into his front pocket, the tension from the near discovery easing out of his boyfriend’s broad back. “We can handle my family, General,” he said with a shrug. “Even the asset can keep his mouth shut ... from time to time. If we need to continue the mission under their noses, Ma’am, that won’t be an issue.”

A mission? While his family hovered like one of Casey’s stealth fighters? Chuck had to raise a brow at him, because despite Casey being a kickass secret agent, the kid was fairly certain Maggie was a shapeshifter, spawned from mating a werewolf with Gorthaur the –

“Agreed, Major,” Beckman said. “That won’t be an issue. However ….” The General pressed a button, and the bottom quadrant of Chuck’s TV displayed the face of a man he didn’t need to flash on again. “He will be.”

“Rolando.” Casey’s jaw firmed. “Mr. Green and White candy cane tights. What about him?”

“We’ve had a break in the case, thanks to … a bit of persuasion to get Rolando to talk.”

Casey grunted. Administering persuasive techniques was like Christmas come early for the Major, and since he had to spend the day in a suffocating surveillance van instead of administering said techniques, it had to gnaw at him. “So, what did our friend decide to share?”

They expected her usual number one with a side of steel; a snipped reply, honestly and without hesitation. 

It didn’t come.

Instead, Beckman settled back in her chair, folded her arms, and regarded Casey with a look of… regret? True, she had innumerable sour looks in her arsenal, and Chuck had been on the receiving end of most of them, but that one sent his thoughts jumbling. 

“It seems Anthony Rolando is aware of a Fulcrum attempt to advance their research. A parallel work stream to enhance the technology branch of their studies.” 

“Research … of what, exactly?” Chuck asked, deeming it safe to speak now that Casey’s presence on his bed had been explained away with the purpose of intimidation, rather than intimacy. “And please say it has nothing to do with –”

“The Intersect, of course.” 

Chuck’s stomach sank. “But we already knew they’re trying to build one.”

“This isn’t simply an Intersect,” Beckman said. “My analysts have begun to refer to this version as Intersect/S.” 

“And let me guess. The S isn’t for the advancement of a self-sacrificing or … even a snuggly Intersect,” Chuck muttered.

The General ignored him. “Major, you can think of this version as more than an upgrade. Their theory envelopes the system of the Intersect – not as a standalone entity that’s limited to the finite receptacle of the brain. Or other … impediments.” Beckman and Casey exchanged knowing looks before glancing down at the current receptacle, sprawled out in his sweatpants and a stack of video game boxes on his nightstand. 

Chuck, sensing he was being appraised, willed himself not to flatten his unruly curls. “A system – like a network?” 

She clicked her mouse and a second quadrant on the screen filled with an image. “Very good, Mr. Bartowski. That’s an excellent analogy.”

Since Chuck was now in a favorable light, he decided not to point out the squiggly-lined image she had enlarged looked like a wingless pregnant turkey.

“Unfortunately, despite advances in neuroscience,” Beckman went on, “these networks of neurons and how they produce cognitions is still poorly understood.” 

“General, if I may ask, what does this have to do with the mission?” Casey wanted to know. 

She folded her arms on the table in front of her. “If Fulcrum is successful in unifying the technology of the Intersect with the neuroscience of the human body, they’ll find themselves in possession of a very powerful tool. One that could allow them to control characteristics of neurons. Perhaps to relate neurons to different types of behaviors.” Beckman glanced at her version of the Intersect, and frowned. “One that we would rather them not have.”

Casey’s eyes glinted at the prospect of a deeper mission, but permission to end scumbags with ill intent always did put a fire in him. Chuck could almost hear a ratchet of a shot gun between his boyfriend’s ears.

“Where’re we headed?” he asked evenly.

“Chuck’s flash was correct. Pickwick Gardens is still your target.”

“You mean, the conference center?” Chuck said, leaning forward. “So, my flash wasn’t a bust after all?” The kid pasted on a smarmy grin and tapped his forehead. “Ye of little faith, Major. Tsk.”

Casey swiveled around and squinted at him. The look warned him he’d find another use for that finger if Chuck didn’t put a stop to the smart-ass smile. 

“Ma’am,” Casey said, turning when he was satisfied Chuck got the message. “What does the conference center have to do with Fulcrum’s intelligence gathering?”

And with a pregnant turkey? Chuck managed not to blurt that out.

“More specifically, it has to do with this.” Beckman pressed a button. The image of Rolando’s weary face vanished, and the mysterious squiggle on an inky background expanded to fill half the screen. 

“Yeah?” Casey eyed it skeptically. “A cross section of a blue-headed, gutted chicken?”

Chuck tilted his head and studied the image before wrinkling his nose. Maybe the guess within the realm of the poultry family wasn’t that far off.

“The image you are referring to, Major Casey,” she said, shifting her eyes to reference a line from a document, “is your sister’s investigation and hypothesis on the ‘patterning and regionalization of the nervous system’.”

Standing over him, Casey seemed to freeze into a perfectly-carved marble sculpture. His warlike stance, Chuck called it. Arms tightening along his sides, jaw clenched tight enough to crack stone, his every sense alert. The soldier in him gave away nothing as his footsteps, quiet and measured, brought him closer to the screen. 

“Oh, crap,” Chuck murmured, scooting to the foot of the bed to get a better look. “They … invited her to the symposium. To present her work.”

“That’s correct, Mr. Bartowski,” Beckman confirmed, sliding the file aside. “I can presume that Casey’s sister has already discussed the dual purpose of the visit with you. The chicken, as you refer to it, Major, is actually a photograph of a … stained neuron.” The precision of her words revealed she was just as confused as they were. “A technological imprint of circuits, if you will, that could map human cognition … emotion … to a specific neural sub-region.” She settled back in her chair and brought her steepled fingers together in front of her. “A very powerful –and dangerous – tool if fused with the Intersect.”

Since Casey had yet to speak, Chuck had no choice but to explain what he knew. “She … Maggie said she’s not the only one. That there were others invited to present their research.”

“Again, your Intel matches what Rolando has told us.” Beckman nodded, her lips twisting grimly as she met Casey’s eyes. “Except Ms. O’Byrne and the others believe they are vying for a grant to extend their studies, when in reality, Fulcrum plans on stealing the intelligence and pushing it forward to suit their own agenda.”

“But Maggie? Casey’s sister?” Chuck went wide-eyed as the reality started to set in. “Have you ever … met her, General?”

Beckman gave him her patented ‘that is enough from the asset’ look and turned her attention back to Casey. “That was the purpose of attempting to find you – to brief you, Major. When Rolando revealed the identity of the targets, my original intention was to ask you to contact your sister. Determine if she had accepted the offer. That’s no longer necessary, it appears.”

With that, every long inch of Casey straightened, a dragon guarding his darkened cavern. “We’re getting her out of this. Now,” he said flatly, his decision made. “We’ll make it look like a ruse. She’ll find out that it was a scam to –”

“And miss the opportunity to inflict a serious blow to their progress?” Beckman posed the question through tight lips.

Casey’s eyes narrowed. Odds were fifty/fifty that the muscles in his neck would punch through his skin if he stayed that tense, Chuck thought. “What do you mean, General?” Casey’s voice sharpened. “Opportunity?”

“Fulcrum is interested in her research, not in harming her, John. Without too much effort, we could swap the files on her laptop, as well as the other candidates,” Beckman explained. “My analysts have developed a highly sophisticated worm – they promise me it makes Stuxnet look like something from one of your asset’s video games.” Without so much as a look, she waved a hand vaguely in Chuck’s direction. “It will contain a specialized malware payload that will put them back …well, perhaps a few years in their research.”

Chuck had to scowl at her judgment of video games, but this probably wasn’t the time to debate it.

“With all due respect, Ma’am,” and Casey paused to fold his arms over his chest, “the answer is no.”

It seemed eons passed before she answered. “I’m afraid that’s not an option, Major Casey.”

“I’m afraid that wasn’t a question, General,” Casey replied. “I’m getting my sister out of this. I refuse to have my family serve as government bait.”

Chuck’s jaw hinged open. Slanting a look, he stared up at Casey’s back, wondering what other worldly being had possessed his lover, since there was no way in hell John Casey basically just told his boss to go fuck herself.

“Even at the expense of your country, Major?” Beckman asked, straightening at his defiance. “Your asset?”

He remained still. “General, respectfully, you cannot ask –”

“Ask? You are confusing my words with an inquiry,” Beckman broke in, each word laced with enough heat to singe skin. “However, that is an order. You will find out exactly what your sister knows. You will instruct the asset to load the files we will provide to you onto her laptop.”

“Whoa.” Chuck brought his hands up protectively in front of him and started to climb to his feet. “If you don’t mind, General, can you keep me out of this –”

“Correct. This has nothing to do with you.” She didn’t take her eyes off of Casey while she spoke. “Please sit, Mr. Bartowski.” 

Pivoting around, Chuck looked to Casey for guidance, and spied the downward motion of his hand. Do it. So obediently, though under protest, Chuck sighed, plopping back down on the bed. 

Beckman watched Casey’s face closely. “You’ll be with her every step of the way,” she pointed out. “According to Rolando, Fulcrum will create a diversion to steal the research. You and Chuck will infiltrate the conference, undercover of course.” 

Chuck stood before he realized it. “General, have your analysts considered –”

“Shut up,” they said at the same time. Neither officer gave him a second look. 

“You’ll ensure Fulcrum gets exactly what they want and that your sister gets out of there safely,” Beckman ordered. “The laptop will … quietly and discriminately infect their networks, destroy their progress.” A tight smile slid onto her face. “Fulcrum wants the research. And the US government will be more than happy to give them what they want.”

-x-

Casey’s Apartment  
The bedroom  
21 December 2009  
08:24 am PST

Ellie dispensed with the pleasantries as soon as Chuck answered his cell phone. “Chuck, why didn’t you pick up earlier? What is going on over there?”

“Um, can you … hang on for just a ….” Chuck’s voice trailed off while he looked first one way, then the other before high-tailing it towards Casey’s bedroom. Since Maggie had holed herself up in the spare bathroom directly across from their room, a private phone call would take some stealth. 

“Chuck? Are you there?”

“I … one sec.” Scrambling to get the bedroom door open, he slipped in undetected and heaved a sigh. “I’m back.”

“Are you okay?” 

“Sure. Everything’s … just peachy.”

“Why are you whispering?”

“I’m not!” he hissed quietly into the phone. 

“Really, because it sounds like – wait, are you at Casey’s?”

For some reason, she didn’t sound happy at the prospect. What was that all about? He thought that his sister was warming up to some of Casey’s gruffer ways. “Well, yes, I’m at Casey’s. We’re just –”

“Is he with you?”

“Not … not at this particular moment, no,” he replied, wary. “El, were’re going to have a long day at the store, and … do you mind telling me where you’re going with this?”

“A woman.”

He waited. Nothing. “Uh, are there more words coming, sis, or are we playing what do I have in my pocket?” Chuck frowned at the ceiling. “Which would make this conversation even stranger than it already is.”

“Listen to me, Chuck.” Ellie’s voice was quiet, sisterly. “I don’t … know how to tell you this, and I don’t want you to get alarmed or anything like that – but I saw a woman leaving Casey’s apartment today.”

Chuck grimaced, only able to speculate at the dozen scenarios that had to be running through her head. A real estate agent, because Casey, after using up his young lover, was looking to move across country. A secret girlfriend, since Casey had decided to get a silky taste of something softer than her lanky, nerdy brother … since Chuck had confided to her in a moment of weakness – which could’ve involved tequila – that Casey was a switch hitter.

Out of all his possible reactions, a surprised laugh won out. “Let me guess. Red hair?”

“Well … yes, it was reddish. You could say that.”

“Tall?”

“Yes,” Ellie said, picking up on the fact he was leading her along. “Taller than me, now that I think about it.”

A thin nose that managed to worm its way in everyone’s business? Beady alligator eyes that had a three hundred and forty degree field of vision? With compass and binocular like movement of the rotating eyeballs?

Well, he decided to leave those last two off the list, since the shower had turned off a minute ago.

“Okay. Tell me,” Ellie insisted, relief and curiosity creeping into her voice. “Who is it?”

“So, here’s the news,” Chuck said, rolling his eyes towards the ceiling again. “That was Casey’s sister, Maggie. The Caseys are in town for Christmas.”

“What?!” Ellie squealed, the high pitched one that sent the Hunsinger’s terrier in 203 into a barking fit when the poor animal was in range. “They’re here?!”

“Now, remain calm, El. This means nothing, okay? There just here for the holiday, a very low-key –”

“Chairs.” Said emphatically.

“Uh, what now?”

“Chairs,” Ellie repeated, though she had tuned him out by now. “We’re going to need chairs. How many are there?”

“How many –?”

“Caseys?”

“Four?”

Another squeal. “Oh, God. This will be so much fun! We get to meet Casey’s family.” Now the rattling of a pen and a notepad. “Okay. Let’s see that’s going to make – nine for Christmas Eve dinner – oh! I know, I’ll have to borrow an extra table, and we’ll line them up end to end. That way, we can all sit together.”

“Whoa. Hang on, sis. Do you really think it’s such a –”

“Hm. I may need to get a longer table cloth.” Ellie paused. More scratching of the pen. “Allergies?”

“Are you asking me, because you know,” and he lowered his voice, “the skin allergies aren’t bad this time of –”

“Chuck. Focus,” said the big sister, a little stern. “I need you’re A-Game for this. Do any of the Caseys have a food allergy?”

“Are you serious?”

“You know, an obscure intolerance? I don’t want to serve a balsamic salad with orange wedges if someone has a citrus allergy? Or put onions in the stuffing if –”

“Think about it, sis,” Chuck said, dragging a hand over the back of his neck. “They grew up on a farm in the Midwest. They’re Caseys. Which by default means no allergy would have the fearlessness required to settle into their gene pool.”

“Really.” Her doctor’s persona was intrigued.

“Yes, really. I spent a week with them, okay? Caseys will eat anything.”

“I … see.” 

Oh, great. No need to speculate on the thoughts circling her head this time.

Chuck sat on the bed and buried his head in one hand. “You really don’t have to plan a big dinner just for us. They’ll probably just want something here, maybe take-out, and go to bed early.”

“They’re coming for Christmas Eve dinner. End of conversation.” The pronouncement made, her voice perked up. “I can’t wait to find out everything about them – and Casey. He’s so closed mouth, you know? It will be fun to hear what they have to say. Personal details he never shares?”

Fun? By Chuck’s estimation, there were a hundred other ways he would label Christmas Eve dinner with Ellie and the Caseys.

Horrifying, for one, when Maggie compared her notes to Ellie’s.

-x-

The Buy More  
Burbank  
21 December 2009  
9:52 am PST

Aisle four, between the discount CDs and laser printers. That’s where Chuck found his boyfriend, not that a man his size decked out in Kelly green was difficult to lose. Casey was on price check duty, and since he had never discerned the difference in grip between a price gun and a real one, he held it clamped tight in his fist like an AK-47 rifle. Every move brusque, exact. 

Striding. Scanning. Shooting with dead-center accuracy.

Chuck wet his lips and sidled up to him. “Hey … hey, Casey.” With a bolstering smile, the kid scoped out the perimeter before he deemed it safe to touch his arm. “Listen, I know this is bothering you, and maybe it would help if you … talk to me about what’s going on in that terrifying place between your ears … sweetie?” 

Casey turned, pointed the gun. “Cut the sweetie, or I will end you.”

“Uh-huh.” Chuck forced a laugh and brought a hand up to smooth his pocket protector. “You know that has absolutely no effect on me, right? Because I know that you would never – okay, let’s try this. Talk to Beckman. Tell her you’re not going to let his happen.” He walked alongside him since Casey had moved on without so much as sparing him a glance. “This is your sister,” Chuck said, “and though she scares me in more ways than the creepy clown in It, I think you need to say something.”

Mechanically, Casey pulled the trigger with a hint violence at Michael Bolton’s greatest hits. “Clowns, Bartowski?”

“Well, haven’t you ever been creeped-out by – God, who am I talking to?” Chuck tidied up the CDs and rolled his eyes. “Anyway, I know you don’t want to see her in a dangerous situation. You have to talk to –” 

“You heard her.” Casey held his jaw taut and lifted the gun. The next shot cracked Mariah Carrey cleanly in half. “Orders.” 

“Orders?” Chuck echoed, shaking his head as he stuffed the CD behind the others. “Just like that, you’re going to be the good little soldier, snap to attention, and be her bulldog? Even if it means your sister’s safety – erk” 

Telling the Major how to do his job was going to get him in trouble, Chuck thought, a mere heartbeat before a fist wrapped around his tie and tugged him in close. Sweet oxygen became sparse.

“Are you listening?” Casey asked, his voice flat.

Chuck swallowed, automatically peeking over at appliances to see who was witnessing this little tiff. “That would be a yes.” His eyes remained wide open, not blinking into the sea of swirling blue two inches away. “You have a point to make, I’m sure.”

“Yeah, and I’m only going to say this once.” The grip loosened. Some. “Beckman was right,” he said, getting back to killing imaginary Fulcrum scientist slash discounted musical acts. 

“She was?” That had to kill him. “When did you come to this realization?”

“I … momentarily let ….”

“Emotion get the better of you?”

“Eh.” Casey glared. “A soldier never doubts his own abilities. This is my mission. My team. I’m not going to let anything happen to her. We get in, we plant the worm, we get out. Even … the Intersect can’t screw this up. We don’t fail.”

“Okay, GI Robo, I get it.” Chuck gently pried the fingers off of his tie. “But I know it’s upsetting you.”

“I don’t get upset.”

“Really?” Chuck held up the CD case his boyfriend had just priced, gave it a shake, and listened as the shattered remnants rattled against the plastic. “Hear that?” Satisfied that he had made his point, Chuck raised a brow at him. “You might want to work on stocking the shelves for a while, big guy, before Big Mike sees the collateral damage.”  
Casey sized up the CD case, pressed the trigger, and zapped a price sticker over the crack. “There. You just remember your role in this. You plant the Trojan horse on her laptop like a good little nerd, and Fulcrum will do their job. We make sure the civilians gets out of there. Done.”

“So my role here is demeaning tech support who breaks into your sister’s laptop.” Chuck glimpsed towards the Nerd station. “I think I can handle that. Where will you be, anyway?”

“I’ll be concealed – undercover and directing the op,” Casey replied, flipping through a stack of misplaced CDs on the DVD rack. “Who organizes this?”

“And where will I be?”

“You’ll be in disguise. Hopefully flashing and gathering Intel. She’ll never know you were there.”

“Really.” The kid replayed the op in his head. “Because I can see how this thing can get screwed up ten ways to Sunday.”

“Not gonna let that happen, Bartowski.” With a fleeting look to see if they had an unwanted audience, Casey latched onto his hip and kept him close. “Speaking of screwing up,” he said, “I have something for you.” A small stack of cards fell into Chuck’s hand. “Here.” 

“What … are these?” Chuck turned the cards over. “Are these … three-by-five notecards?”

“Yep.” Casey sounded proud of himself for some reason.

“Oh-kay. And why are you giving me these?” Chuck asked, recognizing Casey’s blunt handwriting.

“Overheard some chatter between you and the Moron.” He pointed his chin in Morgan’s direction, near the coffee makers. “Thought this would help you.”

Chuck’s brows drew down. “I’m … still totally confused on this one. What am I supposed to do with these?”

Casey slanted a look towards the Nerd Desk, where Jeff and Lester were playing basketball with wadded up work orders. “Anyone starts asking about … us, you refer to one of those cards.”

Chuck’s mouth fell open. “Wait. Wait a minute,” he said, grabbing Casey’s arm. “You gave me a script to follow? About us?”

Casey grunted. “You see a problem with that?”

“No. No, I don’t see a problem with it.” Chuck waved one of the cards. “I see a hundred problems with it!” 

“Keep your damn voice down,” Casey ordered, shoving away a CD tersely. “Thought you’d show some appreciation.”

“Apprecia – oh, hell. This is just ….” The kid gave him an aggravated look and held a card in front of his face. “You know what? I’m going to read one of these. Because, I have to tell you, and can’t wait to know what John Casey thinks is a plausible reason for un-tucking on the roof.”

“Un-tucking? What are you talking about, twerp?”

“Let’s see,” Chuck went on, ignoring him and reading from the card. “We’re carpooling.” Dubious, the kid flipped it back over because there had to be more. Nothing. “That’s it? That’s the best you can come up with?”

“Let me guess, Bartowski,” Casey observed, his bravado wiped clean. “You got a problem with that, too.”

“Problem?” Chuck shot him an incredulous look. “With … this?”

Casey stared right back and shrugged. 

“Soooo. Note cards of acceptable verbiage about us ….” Chuck looked from his psycho-boyfriend to the stack he was expected to memorize. “Mm-hm.” Freaking unbelievable. The kid whipped out a pen from his shirt and began scribbling on the card. “Here,” he said, just as proud. “I have one for you.” 

“What,” Casey said, not asking.

Finishing his hasty scrawl, Chuck gritted his teeth and read from it. “My boyfriend … is driving me insane.” 

Casey made a disturbing noise in his chest. Matter-of-fact, he swiped the card from Chuck’s hand, grabbed the pen and scribbled. When he was done, he handed it back, looking smug. “There you go, champ. Fixed it for ya.”

“Huh?” Chuck’s confused gaze shifted from Casey to the card, morbid curiosity making him read it. Casey had crossed out boy and insane.

“See?” A furtive wink, a discreet squeeze to his ass, and Casey got back to work. “We’re carpooling.”

-x- 

Casey’s Apartment  
The bedroom  
21 December 2009  
5:14 pm PST

“Where do you think you’re going?” Casey growled, sealing the bedroom door behind him.

“Ah.” Chuck stumbled backwards and hit the edge of the dresser. “Why do you insist on doing that?” His arm had been buried in a white plastic shopping bag, digging around for a Christmas CD Ellie asked him to pick up at the store. Which meant he was unprepared for the sneak attack.

“Stay.” The order came with Casey’s hand on the kid’s chest.

“Stay? Really.” Chuck frowned. “Can’t you warn a guy before you pounce on him? I swear I’m getting you a cowbell to wear around your neck for Christmas. See how that would solve so many problems? What are you getting at, any – oh,” he finished, finally stopping to get a good look at his handler.

That look on Casey’s face usually came with rocket launchers and smoke bombs. The look of a man entering into a mission, all tenacity, ropes of taut muscles, and bull strength. And since there were no rebels, terrorists, or even a money launderer hanging out with him in the bedroom, Casey’s expression could only mean he had settled on a … different kind of target. 

Locked and loaded, a mission of the clandestine variety. 

“Uh … hey, sweetie.” After a long look, Chuck smiled. A nervous one, but genuine. “What’s going on?”

Casey grunted. “Don’t play dumb.” A large hand swooped out and grabbed the crinkled bag, tossing it to the side. When he moved in closer, Chuck felt the blowback of the thermal wave, a dirty bomb detonation under a pair of warm hands. “C’mere ....”

“I hate to ask under these circumstances,” Chuck said in a rush, bringing his palms up while his brain stuttered to make reason, “– when you’re – well, you know, but – ow!”

The agent just worked on the buttons of his nerd shirt, his large hands moving too quickly, precisely, plucking them open one by one.

“Hands down,” was the next order, followed by a swat at them when Chuck’s brain scrambled the instructions backwards and sideways. 

“What … what are you –” Think. So while Casey was working his way down the buttons, Chuck’s fingers trailed behind and had fastened them up again. 

Or not. The last one, he might’ve skipped. Maybe two. Things were getting somewhat confusing. 

“Ho – hold on.” When a sliver of common sense edged in, he grabbed a handful of thick fingers before they could get to his pants. “I’m not … no! Are you insane? Not with your mother and sister sneaking around, just waiting for the moment when – you’re not listening to a word I’m saying, are you?”

All it took was a twist of his wrist, a yank, and buttons were flying again. Already Casey had the bottom one loosened, and a fistful of shirt dragging out the hem of his black pants before Chuck could slow him down.

It was still bewildering why he would want to do that, but one of them had to be logical here, and it wasn’t going to the man whose pants were stretching around two loaded weapons. 

“Arms up,” Casey said in the way of a command. “T-shirt next.”

“Hey, easy, big guy. Whoa. Give me a chance to – not that this means you can, because seriously, are you – ears! Watch the ears! They’re attached, you know. Ah. You can’t just take my –”

The rest of it was muffled under a wad of t-shirt being yanked over his head.

When it was freed, Chuck pushed the ruffled hair out of his eyes – and given that a minute ago he was innocently searching for Lady Antebellum’s seasonal mix, and now he was half naked, the smirk rankled a bit. “I don’t know what you’re thinking, but you need to –”

“Stay here,” Casey murmured, splaying a palm on either side of his neck, swiping his thumb over the long tendon, humid flesh. “Yeah … take a breath, tough stuff.” With Chuck’s bare hollow of his neck now right there for the tasting, Casey dipped his head, leaving a long warm path of lips, kissing. Then he gave a soft suck, using the edge of his teeth along the fine bone to his shoulder, scraping the pale smooth skin of his rawboned physique. “Let me do this….” 

“Ca-Casey. What’re … you doing –” Though it was obvious. 

In answer, cool fingertips skidded over his chest, trailing lower to the button of his pants. “Get rid of these …” he suggested, letting his fingers fall under the waistband. 

I have to ask – mmm.” Chuck’s voice wobbled at the bite on his collarbone. “Are you out of your freaking mind?”

“Target,” Casey replied against the sensitive flesh under his ear. He tightened an arm around his waist since he felt Chuck arching his back away from him. “C’mon ….”

Chuck swallowed, felt a smile against his throat, letting him know Casey appreciated the wilting control. “I have to be the one to remind you, this particular target cannot be breached until after –”

“Not that, kiddo. Danny and Andrew … went to the Planetarium at the Griffith,” he said, breathing along his nape. Nipping at his chest. “Mother and Maggie had planned to wait for them to get back with the rental … before going to Target.”

“Of course. The s-superstore Target. I should’ve known – oh … God, Casey …mph .…” The kid exhaled, made fists to steady himself. “That is a … verrry bad idea, what you’re doing right now .…” 

“Heh. But I offered up the use of the Vic instead,” he said, a teasing caress of lips over his nipple. Intent on ending the coyness, Casey reached around him, brushing his fingers across the terrain of his ribs, down to ass, stroking. “They left.” Leaning in, he took a kiss, searching, hungry, and Chuck’s full mouth softened under Casey’s. With his hand still resting on the slope of the kid’s ass cheek, a few fingers found the crease. They nestled in, going low, up and down. “Like that?”

“S-so, everyone’s gone? We’re alone?”

“Yeah …. That means there’re some new rules,” he said. “Not Mother’s … or yours. My rules.”

Chuck drew in a shaky breath when Casey did something particularly naughty with his tongue. “You’re not just saying this to get …?”

“Ninety minutes, at least,” Casey replied, his voice a husky growl. “Handle a quickie, Bartowski?”

But given that his boyfriend could go to extreme lengths when his dick was hard – a little white lie would not be above him – Chuck disengaged himself and half-turned, cocking his head. He listened for voices rising from downstairs, footsteps, or the TV, because if the Caseys were in the house, they would know it.

Not a sound.

As Chuck considered the risk, a thick arm encircled his middle from behind and pulled him close, pressing him into the front of Casey’s jeans. Right there. At the prod of a hard cock on his buttocks, Chuck felt his own reaction stir. Reflexively, he leaned backwards, pressing it into his crease. “God … Casey….” he said, hoarse, squeezing his eyes shut. “Feels … really good right now.”

“You want … to come back on that?” Casey spoke, grazing his mouth against the curls over his collar. “Take it … slow as you want ….” A gentle tug of his earlobe between his teeth. “Won’t make you … beg this time.”

“I never begged … mmm.” Chuck tipped his head, just enough to give Casey’s lips better access to his neck. A warm lick, sucking. “It was imploring … with mild urgency.”

“Is that what you call it?” He chuckled, but considering Casey’s dick had been hard since the surveillance van, he wasn’t waiting for clever repartee. “This isn’t gonna be sweet … no flowers or dinner, kid.” Just a good solid fuck. “Take it off, boy toy,” he said, inhaling against his chin and giving his crease another rub. 

“God, I hate it when you call me that,” Chuck said, looping a finger into Casey’s belt to keep him where he was. “Your sister calls me that, too. Did you notice?”

“Jesus, really, kid? You wanna talk about her now?”

“Point.” He turned his head and gave him a crooked smile. “Want to show me what was important enough to barge in here and scare the – oh.” Chuck ended it there as he felt himself spun around to face him and his belt buckle disengaging. “All right, then.”

“Pants,” Casey said, working them down, while his jaw relaxed into a grin. “Show you, eh? Fine, Romeo.” He didn’t break eye contact with the kid as he slipped his own belt off next. “Good suggestion on your part.”

“Never doubt me.” Though a second later, Chuck almost broke his dick off in a near fall when his foot got stuck in the hem of his pants. “Ah … crap.”

“Steady, tiger.” There was a moment of balancing before Casey gave the kid a little shove to the bed. “Can’t let a valuable piece of the Intersect sustain damage, can I?” he said, grinning down at him. “As your handler, I need to take care of that.”

“Jerk,” Chuck said with mock petulance, reaching out to run a hand over the swell of his bicep. “I’m not sure this is what the US government had in mind.”

“Heh.” Gazing at the ungraceful sprawl of limbs on the covers, Casey climbed over his long body and tugged the pants past his foot. “Okay, socks.”

Chuck dutifully lifted his feet so that Casey could tear them off, because sex and socks didn’t go in his book. “Should we … close the blinds?” Chuck asked, feeling a shudder as Casey straddled him. “I mean, it is still daylight.”

“Bother you?” Straight-armed and looming over him, Casey obviously found amusement in this, considering the places they had defiled, the inhibitions he had peeled away over the past year. He lowered himself, his hands resting on either side of Chuck’s shoulders, careful to hold his bulk from a complete body press – only for the reason that if Casey had any intention of doing the dozen or so dirty deeds that had to roaming through his head, it would kind of important for Chuck to be able to breathe. “Bother you when you can watch me … fuck you?” His voice was low. “Is that it?”

A hard swallow. “No, no … I didn’t mean that,” Chuck said. “It’s just that – ah. Shit.” He couldn’t help it, not while his hand drifted down, his thumb teasing languidly at the ridge of his cock. Round in a tight circle ….

“Good,” Casey rumbled, and kissed him. Another easy, lazy grin spread over his face. “Because I wanna … see you this time ….” Ducking his head, Casey swept his lips over his neck, trailing his mouth down to his chest. “Wanna see you … taking me, kid. Like you can’t help a damn thing, only that …. Wanna hear you make those sounds, babble and ask for –”

“Honey? Are you in there?” Knuckles brushed against the door, the polite two-second warning that all privacy rules were merely suggestions in the Casey vernacular. 

And that they now had incoming visitors. 

“Holy sh –!” Chuck got that far before bucking Casey off of him – the kid had always heard situations of extreme horror can give superpower strength, and now it appeared to be true. And since they were no longer pressed together at the hips with Casey’s hand on his cock, he sucked in a breath and dove under the blanket.

“Mother CockBlocker,” he heard Casey growl like fire under his breath.

Just as the door popped open.

-x-

“Jesus, ma,” Casey muttered, tightening and repositioning the blanket around his stomach. “When I say ya have to knock first, I mean knock and wait for the affirmative.”

“Oh, you startled me.” Mother’s eyes flickered over his bare chest and she put her hands on her hips. “It’s the middle of the day, Johnnie. You’re not taking a nap, are you?”

Casey turned his head a fraction of an inch, towards the other side of the bed, and pushed himself up on his elbows. “Yeah. That’s right. A nap. Is that a damn crime around here?” His blue eyes narrowed. “Had a long training exercise yesterday and it’s my day off.”

“Where’s Chuck?” she asked. “Shouldn’t you spend your day off together?”

The rumpled blanket shifted and a hand appeared, pawing the air vaguely in a wave. “Uh, hello, Mother Casey,” Chuck said, muffled.

“Sweetie, why don’t you come out?”

The hand disappeared, taking the top of the blanket with it to tighten around his head on the way down. “Well, I ….” Chuck began. “I don’t think –”

“Cause he’s bare-ass naked, ma,” Casey cut in. “So am I. So if you don’t mind backing up and closing the door –”

“Oh?” Mother exchanged a look from Casey to the gangly lump, her stoic manner wavering as her brows went up. “Oh.” She cleared her throat. Twice. “Honey, you need to … warn us ahead of time if you’re going to –”

“Warn you?” Casey ran a hand over his face. “Make a public service announcement before we head upstairs?” he said. “Put a damn sock on the doorknob?”

“John,” Chuck said from under the blanket. “I know you’re … but, don’t talk to your mother that way.”

“Stay out of this,” Casey demanded, slipping one of his hands under the covers to pinch some nerd flesh into silence. 

“Stay out of what?” came another voice from the hallway. 

“Fuck.” Casey inclined his head towards the door and had to repress a groan. 

“Did you find it, ma?” The door opened further and Maggie’s head popped around the corner. 

Casey pinched the bridge of his nose. “Please get the hell out.”

“Why? What’s – hey, where’s Chuck, anyway?” Maggie asked. She gave a cursory glance around the room, but when her eyes landed on a long skinny lump under the blanket next to her brother, her brows slowly rose to her hairline, mirroring Mother’s flummoxed look. “Wait – is that –? Chuck?”

“Uh, hello?” He didn’t bother to wave this time. 

“Why are you hiding?” Maggie asked.

“Honey, he’s –” Mother hesitated, her voice dropping to an uncomfortable whisper. “Na-ked.”

“Oh. I see.” His sister made a sound of wicked fun low in her throat. “The ol’ ‘let’s get rid of mom and sister for some afternoon delight’ routine, eh? Got to hand it to you, little brother, you almost had me with your generosity. Christ, I should’ve known you’d never let anyone drive your precious relic.” 

“Mags, if you don’t get your ass –”

“But I should explain that to Chuck, right? Afternoon Delight?” With the grin threatening to split her face, Maggie strolled into the room. “It’s a song from the seventies, so you’re fairly young to remember that, aren’t you?”

“Margaret.” Mother’s no-nonsense tone prevented further discussion. “Stop teasing your brother. Let’s just try and find it and … leave Johnnie with some … privacy.”

Maggie rolled her eyes. “Fine. Where did you leave it?”

“What’re looking for, anyway?” Casey ground out between his teeth. He was willing to do anything to get them the hell out – even if he had to climb out of bed stark-naked to help them look for it.

“Coupon,” Mother clarified, walking over to the dresser.

“What?”

“I was putting away the folded laundry, and I –”

“Ma, you don’t have to do our laundry,” Casey told her, sitting up a little taller.

“I know, honey, but I thought I would give Chuck a little break from his housework.”

“Hm? My housework?” Chuck’s head poked up under the blanket like a tent pole. “Why is it my –” 

“That’s okay, ma.” Casey patted Chuck’s hip and fought a smile. “He likes taking care of us. Right, Chuck?” 

A bony foot hit Casey in the calf. “Sure, sweetie.” Then, “Asshole,” he heard him whisper.

“Well, when I was folding laundry,” Mother was saying, “it fell out of my pocket, and I must’ve left if here …. Somewhere ….” She lifted a pile of clothes and began scooting things around. “Have you seen it?”

“It?” Casey managed to say without moving his jaw.

“Twenty-five percent off,” Maggie remarked, enjoying this way more than she should. “Ma figured she would do some Christmas shopping.”

“A … coupon?” Casey’s eyes drew down to slits. “You came back … and barged in here because of a –” Fucking “– coupon?”

Mother spared him a glance. “Johnnie, you don’t expect that I would just –”

“Mags.” It was the tone that said for the next five minutes, Casey was going to take his place as the Man of the Family, the twentieth-century rights movement be damned. “Bring me my pants.”

“Your … pants?” She tilted her head pertly, willing to listen. “Can I assume one of these pairs, so casually tossed on the floor, is what you are referring to?”

“Cut the crap and bring me the jeans.”

Maggie arched a brow and tapped her cheek, contemplating, but curiosity won out. She picked up the jeans and tossed them over to her brother while Mother continued to search. “Why do want them, anyway?”

“My wallet’s in them.” Casey rifled through the back pockets and fished it out. “There.”

Even stone-cold, fazed-by-nothing Maggie had to briefly gape when he opened it and began digging around. “Might want to wait until Ma’s out of the room,” she said. “Though she will be proud that the ’78 pep talk on protection stuck with you.”

“Maggie!” Before Casey could snarl out a retort, a head shake from Mother told them that was enough. “Just get over here and help me look.”

“Don’t bother, Ma.” Casey gave a glare to his sister and opened the wallet. “How much were you gonna spend?”

It got her to look up, at least. “How much?” Her forehead furrowed. “What kind of a question is that?” 

“Okay, let’s say it’s a hundred.” Casey was all business as he plucked out a few bills. “So, twenty-five percent …. Here’s forty just in case the two of you go over.” Pleased with his resourcefulness, he fluttered the money between his fingers. “See? Problem solved.”

Maggie snatched it. “Okay, mom. Here we go.” She tucked the bills into her pocket. “Johnnie’s giving us hush money and we better take it.”

“For once, she’s talking sense, ma.”

“Margaret. Give that back to your brother,” Mother told her, looking from one sibling to the other. “Besides, it’s not the same. It’s no fun that way.”

“No, ma. Really. It’s just the same. More fun, in fact. Trust me.”

“Put that back in your wallet.” As soon as the words were out, she froze. “Uh-oh. Wallet.”

Casey and Maggie turned to her in unison, her son mumbling a very bad swear under his breath. 

“Mother, you didn’t….” Maggie said, chuckling softly. “Are you sure?”

“Sorry, honey.” She arranged the top of the dresser quickly and smiled, albeit a pained one. “Didn’t mean to … interrupt your –”

The chirp of a cell phone cut her off there. Nice timing, because Casey wondered how in the hell she was gonna finish that. 

“Hey, Dan,” Maggie said into her phone. “What’s up? Oh?” She listened, and in no time, a slow mischievous grin crossed her face. “Good news, Johnnie. They got in to the earlier star show. They’re only five minutes away. Looks like we won’t have to borrow your car after all. You boys will be able to hang out together while we’re gone.”

Casey made a deep noise, the one that made wolves shiver.

“Maggie, let’s leave your brother alone.” Mother’s voice became precise. “He and Chuck need to get dressed before the boys get here.” Meaning, get decent before you embarrass me. She gently but firmly steered her daughter out and waved without looking. “Bye, honey. We’ll be back in an hour or so.”

A half minute passed in cold silence. At length, the lump next to him straightened and he heard Chuck let out a breath. “Please tell me they’re gone.”

Casey glowered at the door with a look that should’ve burst it into cinders and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “They’re gone,” he grumbled. “You can come out now.”

Casey watched him as he flipped the blanket back and climbed out of bed. Well, good luck keeping your balance with a hard-on that could cut glass, he thought with a dark satisfaction. His eyes swept appreciatively over his pale torso, slick with sweat, leaner but hard muscles, and a fine layer of hair trailing down to his cock, standing like a good soldier.

“God, where are my pants?” Chuck said under his breath. “How am I supposed to face them at the dinner table, anyway? Have you thought about that?” He turned when he didn’t get an answer. “What … what are you looking at?”

“Jesus ….” Casey whistled out between his clenched teeth and gave a sexy low laugh. “Why don’t you come back here before you hurt yourself with that?” 

Chuck gave him withering look and disappeared into the closet, and came out a half minute later wearing one of Casey’s silk robes. “You did hear your sister, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Casey said, patting the other side of the bed. “Five minutes. Let’s go, kid. Hands and knees. Quicker that way.”

Chuck’s fingers froze in the midst of tying the robe’s belt around his waist. “Are you … you are serious?”

“Four minutes with all this fucking around,” Casey rumbled, leaning forward to untie the belt. “Come on.”

Okay, so the kid’s getting a little faster on his feet, Casey realized when the silk slipped through his fingers. “It’s not a drive through.” Chuck spoke stiffly as he backed up, running a hand through his tousled curls. “You can’t just pull up the window, honk your horn and expect a cheeseburger.”

Why the hell not? But the kid had to be skittish after that spectacle, right? So Casey settled back on the pillows, stretching a little, and locked his hands behind his head. Yeah, maybe it was a cheap, petty move, but he liked the way it made his arms bulge, his chest swell out a little. By now, he had a year of noticing the things Chuck likes to look at, and he needed to use it. 

“Can’t always have prime rib, kid. Sometimes a cheeseburger scratches the itch, eh?” Now get your ass over here.

Chuck folded his arms over his chest and pulled the silk robe tighter. “Don’t even try that … that muscly thing you have going on. It’s not going to work. You can’t just scale the wall and wage an airstrike whenever you feel the urge, you know,” he said, slightly miffed. “I’ll …. I’m going to be in the shower. A cold one.” The kid thought about it. “You should try one, too, Casanova.”

Casey snorted. 

You think so? A black ops assassin doesn’t give up that easily, princess.

-x-End The Kin Drops In Chapter three-x-


	4. The Kin Drops In (Chapter Four)

The Kin Drops In

Chapter Four

-x-

Casey’s Apartment  
The bedroom … again.  
21 December 2009  
7:14 pm PST

“God, I can’t believe I have to face your family at the dinner table.” Chuck frowned at his reflection and heaved a breath. “After that humiliation today?”

“Yeah, well at least you didn’t have to see Maggie grinning like a fool,” Casey grumbled, “or Mother’s ‘You’re embarrassing the family’ look.”

“Comforting.”

Casey shrugged. “Mother says the prime rib should be ready in ten minutes. Then it has to rest, according to Dr. Maggie, for a least –”

“You know, I sense some tension between the two of you, sweetie –”

“– twenty more minutes. Damn. Smell that?” Casey stopped to breathe it in. “Why can’t it rest in my stomach, eh?”

“Ellie does the same thing,” Chuck said, closing the dresser drawer with his hip. “They tell us to have a light lunch, then warn you not to fill up on the little feta and spinach phyllo. And don’t even think of going near a canister of cheese balls to hold you over. Actually, I think it’s a form of torture.” He paused, pulling on a chocolate-colored sweater over his head and smoothing it over his white t-shirt. “You know, the NSA could learn something here.”

“Humph.” Casey gave him an inscrutable look, making Chuck wonder if his hair was standing up, thanks to the sweater. Whatever lingered in his boyfriend’s head, Casey finally moved away from the door and tugged his SIG out of his waistband. Methodically, he disengaged the magazine and set it carefully in the drawer

“Good boy. I didn’t even have to remind you,” Chuck noted, flashing a grin. “No bullets at the holiday table.”

“Let me guess. Another one of your rules, kid?”

“O-kay, then. That would be a yes to still being pissed about what happened today.” The grin faltered, and Chuck turned to the dresser mirror. Ellie had given him the cashmere sweater for his birthday, saying something about retiring the Byte Me tee he’d had since his sophomore year. A Yuppie brand, and even Casey had commented that he looked decent in it. But still. “Dinner with your family,” he said, raking his fingers through his tousled curls, still damp from the shower. “Why do I feel like I’m going in front of a firing line?”

“Because you’ve been around them long enough,” Casey replied. “Starting to adapt to the interrogation techniques of your captors.” Eyeing him, he removed his watch and set it next to the lamp. “Looks like the conditioning drills I’ve been taking you through are starting to payoff off, Bartowski.”

“Hah. I like how you can do that with a straight face,” Chuck remarked. “But I don’t think any of the training exercises we’ve been working on are going to help in this situation.” As the kid turned to face his boyfriend, he ran his sweaty palms down the front of his jeans and forced a smile. “Well, here’s Chuck Bartowski, suave software engineer for a military subcontractor … and in a long-term … relationship with a highly decorated and successful military officer …. Oh. Wow.”

“What?” Casey asked, lightly tossing his cell phone next to his watch.

“That part’s true.” Chuck jolted. “Wait. Not the long-term part! I’m not making assumptions about us – or you, you specifically – and I meant the part about –”

“Shut the fuck up,” Casey said.

“Be nice.” Chuck had to grin at his boyfriend’s lazy half-smile before turning to pick up his tracker watch.

“Hello and shut the fuck up.”

“Your socialization drills are not working out as well, I see,” he said, still grinning. It took two tries to slide on the black band of his tracking device, considering how fumbling his fingers had become at the thought of dinner conversation. Bracing himself, he checked out the mirror one last time. Sweater. Perfect. Jeans. No burrito stains or holes. Check. Hair … Geez. Chuck tried to flatten the top and sighed. “Okay … be honest here. How do I look?”

He watched while Casey stripped off his polo, expecting the usual answer. Smiling slyly, his boyfriend would barely look at him before telling the kid he should get back in the shower, and this time wash off the layer of nerd. And get a haircut

At times, he’d take him back in there – though washing up had very little to do with that kind of a shower

So it was bewildering when that didn’t happen. Something teased at his senses, watching as Casey casually tossed his shirt down on the chair and began to work the kinks out of his shoulder by stretching an arm over his chest, then rubbed his upper bicep, the back of his neck. Through it all, he kept his eyes locked with the kid’s.

Chuck blinked and bit down on his lip. He was sure he had asked a question a second ago …. Oh, yeah. How he looked. “Well?” He pulled on one sleeve that felt too short and squared his shoulders. “Will Mother think I’m worthy of her only son?”

A dramatic eye roll told him they both knew she was already smitten by a crooked smile and a pair of warm brown eyes, so cut the bullshit

But rather than give him the nerd line, or another one he had to be saving up, Casey tipped his head ever so slightly to inspect every long and lean inch of him. “Turn around.”

Chuck did as he was told, feeling inexplicably nervous. Casey was physically perfect, and Chuck didn’t want to hear about his butt appearing skinny in these jeans or that he had no hips. When the kid rounded to face him, he gave Casey a questioning look.

“You … have something ….” Casey’s voice trailed, but his eyes remained focused somewhere in the vicinity of Chuck’s chin

“Oh. Crap.” Chuck brought up a palm to swipe at his face. “Did I get it?”

Casey leaned against the desk, considering him. “C’mere.” He rubbed his own chin to indicate where it was, and that the kid had missed. “Making it worse. I’ll … get it.”

Self-conscious, Chuck stuffed his hands in his pockets and strolled over to stand in front of him. He was careful to meet his eyes, doing his best to avoid ogling over his smoothly muscled upper body, bare and so close. The kid swallowed. “Well?”

asey’s gaze shifted, sweeping lower, settled on his chin. What was that look? 

And just as Chuck felt an inexplicable spurt of warmth in his gut, Casey cupped his jaw, bent and kissed him. Slow and gentle, a piercingly sweet press of lips, forcing a hard quiver through him, a hand stroke down his back. Sliding into his mouth, keeping it warm, easy, Casey then trailed his lips to the edge of his, hot breath ghosting his cheek

Suddenly needing to steady his feet, the kid reached up blindly, found a meaty bicep, and hung on. Remembered to breathe. The kiss dazed him, and it was more than the restraint it showed … it was romantic and rather sweet and everything John Casey was … not.

When his boyfriend drew back, his hand still caressing the slope of his jaw, he smirked at Chuck’s flustered yet breathless expression. “Yeah ….” he murmured. “Right there.”

“I ….” Chuck’s throat bobbed as he had to stop, swallow again. “Are you t-trying to …? I know you’re upset – not that you get upset, or anything like that – ah. What I’m trying to say is I know the mission … or anything dangerous involving your family, is going to put you on edge. The risk, the thrill. It makes you … tense?” Horny, very horny. “So, I get it. And I’m willing to – oh.&rdquo

ldquo;Or … here,” Casey rumbled, proving he hadn’t caught a word. He leaned in even closer, brushed his lips over the kid’s freshly shaved cheek, the curve of his jaw bone. Left a trail of kisses that burned like a path of hot oil, dribbling over his skin …

He should be saying no. Screaming no

“Oh … hell ….” The kid’s eyes drifted shut. Okay. Just a kiss. That’s all

“Think I’m … getting it?” A strong arm looped around his waist and tugged, pressing in with a stiff thigh … and something else, hot and hard against his stomach

Oh. No, no, no

And owing to the pressure of his body, the kiss becoming hard, forceful and demanding, Chuck would never know precisely what happened next

Well, maybe that wasn’t true. The kid did recognize a sound. A scraping, something with wooden legs being dragged across the floorboards. But by then, of course, he was too busy being dragged towards the door, allowing Casey to shove the chair up and under the doorknob. When it was set at an angle and firmly lodged in place, his boyfriend released him

Except for the insistent fingers that had now slipped under the button of his jeans. The top button was unfastened before Chuck could flail an arm.

“What?!” he hissed, his voice climbing two octaves. “Are you crazy?! That kiss was a trick? Because we are not going to –”

“You heard me, kid.” It was amazing, really it was, because for having huge hands, Casey’s fingers were nimble, making quick work of the zipper. “At least twenty minutes,” he stated, his voice falling between a growl and a chuckle. “Beats the hell out of the five earlier today, eh? So shuck ‘em, boy toy.”

“No shucking!” Chuck went wide-eyed and pulled back. “You know the rules!”

Casey grunted, telling him exactly what he thought of those rules. Ready to dole out more convincing, he brought his forearm around the kid’s narrow waist and held him still. “Listen, sport,” he said, a warm hand going up and under the sweater. “They’ll be distracted, trying not to ruin a cut of prime.”

“While you’re up here?” Chuck yelped at the sensation of his jeans now skimming his hips. “Trying to distract me with a cut of prime?!”

“Boys?” Mother Casey’s voice. Sounding worried. “Everything okay in there?”

“Eh.” Casey groaned out his frustration, his fist thumping against his forehead. There were words, lots of words that Chuck didn’t recognize, and maybe he was counting to ten in Russian or an Arabic dialect before he said something very bad and inappropriate to his own Mother.

At least the head pounding move gave Chuck an opportunity to zip up his pants and get decent

Chuck piped up since Casey’s grumbling had switched to English. “Uh, y-yes, Mother Casey?” He had to clear his throat. “Do you need us for anything?”

The door knob wiggled, then rattled up and down. Thankfully, the chair bobbled but held, if only for the reason Mother probably didn’t need to see her son giving death ray looks to the door. “Is Johnnie in there?”

It took a second for Chuck to decide what the right answer could be. “Why, yes. Yes he is.” The response made Casey turn his glare on him next, but what did he expect him to say? “Do you need him? I think he’s … getting ready to take a shower?” 

Casey shrugged and began to peel off his pants. “Fucking hell,” he muttered

“Shh!” Chuck raised both hands, a futile gesture to quiet him. “She’ll hear you.”

“Shower? Oh, in that case ….” Mother paused. “You know, this question might be better suited for you, anyway, sweetie,” she said. “Can you tell us where you keep the meat thermometer?”

“Meat thermometer?” Chuck mouthed to Casey, his eyebrows lifting to his hairline. “Why is she asking me that question instead of you?”

In the middle of folding his pants, Casey turned to him and stared. Then, for a reason that baffled the kid, a smart-aleck grin slowly slid onto his face. “God, Bartowski,” he said. “You’re supposed to be the genius in the room. Now get down there, ace, and get the thermometer.”

ldquo;Fine.” Chuck squinted at him. “You can tell me later. But where is it?”

Casey rolled his eyes. “The drawer to the right of the stove. Towards the back.”

-x-

Casey’s Apartment  
21 December 2009  
7:52 pm PST

"Things are so ... progressive out here, aren't they, honey?"

"Yeah, Ma," Casey gamely agreed, though his agent-senses tingled. God, where was she going with this? "Can you pass the butter?"

Mother set it in front of his plate. "I hear that ... people like ... well, anyone can get married now – what do they call it?"

Fuck. Really.

Now that the perimeter had been breached, Maggie set down her wine glass and regarded her little brother with a cat-like grin. "Mom, are you talking about the Proposition 8? Gay marriage? Is that what you're trying to say?"

"Well, yes. That. I think it’s so nice that the – well, it’s just enlightened, that’s all. Don't you think so, Johnnie?"

Casey was too busy chugging his scotch to answer. Chuck, sitting next to him, was not a damn bit of help, not the way he was choking on a bite of dinner roll

"Ma," Casey managed after another healthy gulp. "Can we change the subject?" Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he cast a look at his nephew. "He doesn't want to hear this, right, Andy?"

"Not again, Uncle John. Mom and Grandma have talked about Prop 8 and the two of you for so long that I –”

"Andrew, can you see if your uncle has another gallon of milk?" Mother Casey squelched him with a hard stare until the boy started to move. "All right, Johnnie, we'll change the topic. Let's see ...." She exchanged a knowing look with Maggie, and then focused her attention on her son and his … well, fuck – even his mother had to be thinking boy toy by now. No doubt, she’s quietly disapproving of the months he’s strung his lover along. "How long ... have you two been together, anyway?"

Holy God, here we go

When Chuck started to open his mouth, Casey placed a hard hand on his thigh and squeezed. Shut the hell up and let me handle this. 

Shit. Casey did some quick math. In reality, it was exactly a year on Christmas Day, but saying that would mean having to explain why Chuck was dragged to the Midwest last year when they weren't even thinking of things ending up this way

quot;We were ... dating almost a year before I brought Chuck to meet you." Sounds plausible. "So yeah, figure it out."

His Mother took her time arranging the napkin on her lap. "Two years is just about right, don't you think, Johnnie?" she contended. "It’s an ample amount of time to find your mate’s faults … and love them anyway."

Maybe it was the fact Chuck was sitting close, his lean body feeling very warm. Or it could be the three fingers of scotch he poured before they sat at the table. Whatever the excuse, it took until that moment for Major John Casey to realize that this was a full-blown ambush.

"Ma. I thought I said change the subject –not enhance it by taking us –”

"Casey ... John,” Chuck cut in, his smile as pained as a tooth-ache. “Your mother was just asking an innocent question.”

Innocent? Fuck. Naive is one thing, but this? The kid took the prize tonight.

Casey swiveled in his seat, hoping Chuck would recognize the look. Because, seriously, how long would it take boy wonder to put two and two together and get a pressure cooker, anyway? 

When the kid returned it with a blank expression, Casey raised a brow at him. 

Well, genius?

The kid blinked. "Oh." In a cold heartbeat, the blood drained out of Chuck's face, turning him to the ghost of Christmas Past. "You mean, she's ... uh, your mother's implying that … we should –?”

Yeah, that's it. Good boy. He's got it now.

Mother Casey reached over and patted Chuck's arm. "You're not going to wait forever, are you, honey?"

"Um ... I ... I can't really....." As Chuck shot a furtive look around the table, ghost white was replaced with a dull flush. "Maybe I should help with the plates –”

Casey’s jaw flexed. Good Christ, did he think the ‘flee to the kitchen’ routine would stop the likes of them? To confirm his suspicion, he peered over at his sister. Talk about predictable. She was studying the kid’s flustered face and breathing in the scent of wounded of gazelle

"Okay, I'll change the subject." Something creaked. Maggie, moving her chair forward to lean her arms on the table. She angled her head to smile at Casey, ignoring a look that should've produced a pile of smoking hot ashes in her chair. "Remember, Mom, how you were just saying that even Doogie Houser has children now?"

"What the hell is a Doogie Houser," Casey muttered, looking around the table for any clues. 

“Oh.” Chuck choked and scrambled for his napkin. 

“Well?” Casey elbowed him and listened as Chuck gasped for air. “Sounds nerdish. Care to explain?”

"Later," the kid managed, coughing into his fist. "Um, are there any more sweet pickles?"

Maggie cocked her head at them. "There was something else, too, wasn't there, Mother? I … what was it..." She pretended to ponder. "Oh ... I remember. You were saying that if the boys ever … well, go ahead and finish it.&rdquo

Casey turned in time to see his mother blushing and waving her off. "I was just ... it’s none of my business. Really, honey. I was just wondering if you had ever considered … it."

"Considered what? I'm still stuck back on what the fu –”

"Jonathan Steven."

"– hell is a Doogie."

The only person not staring at him dumbstruck was the kid. And by the looks of it, Chuck knew not only what a Doogie meant, but it was making his mouth open and close like a fish flopping on the beach

Suspicion confirmed. Had to be a nerd thing.

The kid made a croaking sound, but before Casey could stop him, he had to open his mouth. “Are you suggesting,” and Chuck swallowed past a lump lodged in his throat, "that we … adopt a child?”

Casey sputtered a mouthful of scotch he’d intended to gulp down. "– the hell?"

ldquo;I would never suggest such a thing,” Mother countered hastily, putting a hand on her chest. “Of course, you’d get … married first?&rdquo

Chuck’s brows disappeared under an unruly lock of hair. "I ... we’ve never discussed …um, that?”

Christ. Rookie. Kid just exposed himself like a mutt with his little privates dangling out there. Casey gritted his teeth and clamped a hand down on Chuck’s knee to stop the joggling. He felt him tense under his strong fingers, telling him his perfect little asset was on the brink of bolting out the window

Not on his watch, sister. 

Casey eased back a little in his chair, eyeing Maggie with his ‘Don’t fuck with me’ look while he swirled the amber liquor in his glass. What Chuck needed was a distraction. So he let his arm slide across the back of the kid’s chair and flipped a curl or two. Rolled one of his dark tendrils between his finger and thumb. Easy, kiddo.

Lifting his glass, he gave her a bored look. "Was that your plan, Mags? Make him squirm? Because the kid’s gonna faint in his potatoes. We – Chuck and I – have plenty of time to talk about this later.&rdquo

"Not really," Maggie corrected. "It's complicated nowadays."

"C-complicated?" the kid asked, taking the bait

Casey pinched the bridge of his nose. God, he hadn't trained him enough

Hell. Not like that.

Maggie just arched a brow at the kid. “Well,” she said, and a smile stretched over her lips. “For you at least, Chuck.”

“Uh, me?” Chuck offered weakly, twisting his fork between his fingers. “Why ... why is that?"

“Johnnie said that you work for a defense contractor? You’re in IT?”

“Well, yes, but what does that have to –”

“Babies don't raise themselves, Chuck.” Maggie gave him a ‘don’t fool yourself’ look and took a bite of her dinner roll. “It takes a few years to plan for that time in your career – you know, getting on the Mommy track? Have you thought about your job?"

Chuck’s jaw went slack. “My … what now?"

Mother took this as her cue to pitch in. "I think what Maggie is trying to say is that you need to consider it, that's all. Beans?" she asked pleasantly, passing the bowl. “And Johnnie? I’m asking you to get that look off your face. You want it to freeze like that?”

With his hand still threaded in the locks over his collar, Casey almost made Chuck wince as his fingers reflexively clutched a fistful of curls. “Did you and Maggie say you were going to change the subject, Ma?”

“Okay, fine. I can see your boyfriend looks like he swallowed a pinecone – that’s cute how red you get, Chuck,” Mother noted with a little pat to his cheek. “Anyway, did you know your Uncle Neil had a bypass?"

The edited, Midwestern version of the details, leaving out any pertinent, reliable information, or heaven forbid cause alarm, ensued. Nodding, half-listening, he let his fingers absently loop around a few cowlicks of dark hair, until the stiffness in Chuck’s neck made him peer over at the kid. Whatever the hell was going on under that curly mop, it had made his nose wrinkle up and his brows draw down. 

After a minute, he shrank back against his chair and dropped his fork. “Oh,” he breathed.

“What is it?" Casey said quietly against his ear, pretending to fix Chuck's shirt collar. “Smile or say something for Chrissakes."

The kid turned his head to the side, hiding his mouth against Casey's hair. “Since when ... am I the girl?!"

Casey had to lift his glass to hide a wry smile. No sense getting him riled if he couldn’t fuck it out of him. “Jesus. Not explaining this shit to you now,” he whispered back. “Just finish your dinner, cupcake."

-x-

Casey’s Apartment  
21 December 2009  
9:36 pm PST

All in all, if he had to rate this meal against other painful events in his life, Chuck would have to give it a six, ten being the morning he and Ellie woke up with no pancakes. Or their dad. And if Mother was hoarding a sampling of ‘Save the Date’ cards, hell bent to select one that matched Casey’s eyes, or a catalogue of decent chef’s knives ‘now that you’re getting ready to settle down’, he’d bump it up to an eight.

No. Maybe a nine point five. What with the talk of legalized marriage, their mythical children, the mommy tra –

Wait a damn minute.

How the hell did that happen? Why am I the girl?!

The kid stiffened with resentment. Then pushing a hand through his curls, Chuck stole at glance at his sprawled lover on the sofa

Look at him. Grade A, all steel and rock, densely packaged muscle in a six-foot-four frame. 

Holy shit. Who was he kidding?

’m the girl!

Chuck stood awkwardly at the edge of the couch, arms folded in front of him, slightly miffed at the assumption. Okay, realistically, maybe not miffed. More like utterly confused, but he had to push the ‘Oh crap’ mantra from his head until he could sort it out. Now was not the time to have a relationship epiphany.

“Did you ask them, sweetie,” Mother called from the kitchen

Oh, just perfect. When he dropped off his plate at the sink, Mother had sent him into the living room to take drink orders

Moving his feet shoulder width apart and puffing out his chest a little, Chuck took another second to quietly fume. Not helping.

“Mother wants to know if anyone needs something,” the kid repeated back dutifully. He twisted around to see if any of the guys would reply, but they seemed to be engrossed in an undefined sporting event. Andrew had curled up with a blanket on the floor, pointed at the TV, while Danny had taken over Casey’s recliner – hah, serves him right – and had a beer in his hand

“I’m fine. Thanks,” Danny said, waggling the can without looking at him. “God! Did you see that? That shoulda been a penalty! High sticking, ref! Christ.”

“Don’t let mom hear you,” Andy warned his dad before looking up at Chuck. “I’m all set. But … can I use your Xbox after the game?”

“Uh … well, I was actually going to –”

Before Chuck could make a comment about his previously planned evening with Morgan, Casey shifted a foot and tapped his heel. Stop your belly aching. Let the kid play with your damn toys.

Perfect. First a girl, and now a kid. It irritated him that his ‘sweet’ demeanor – Mother’s words, not his – and maybe the way he blushed or chattered … his quick easy grin, or hell, even walked had pigeon-holed him in the relationship.

His frown deepening, Chuck turned to his boyfriend. Silently, he took inventory. Like those damn long legs of his stretched out, the way he loosely held a beer between his fingers, the line of his jaw and cheekbone. Every angle of him as sharp as a blade – 

ldquo;Hey. Princess.” Casey lifted an arm to signal to the side without bothering to look up at him. “You make a better door than a window, eh?”

“What?” The kid snapped out of his thoughts at the feel of a prod to his thigh. “A … door?&rdquo

“You’re blocking half the screen,” Casey explained. “Wanna move your ass one way or the other?”

Chuck flinched, various expressions crossing his face. “Oh. Well, sorry.” He was quite proud of the go to hell conveyed in the last word. “Didn’t mean to get in the way.”

Being in a relationship was helping his lover with the nuances, because even Casey picked up on his ire. “No, we don’t need anything to drink.” Setting the beer on the side table, he tapped the cushion next to his thigh, his smile turning to a lazy tease. “C’mere and sit down.”

Chuck tilted his head as he beckoned, examining his guiltless face. Wasn’t it ridiculous to think his sexually repressed boyfriend would try to cop a feel or more with Danny and Andrew in the room? That would be crazy-risky.

Besides, the thought of molding himself into Casey’s hard chest, resting his head on the perfect crook of his firm shoulder was a bit too enticing to pass up

Chuck smiled, plopping down as Casey shifted his knee to make room. “So, this is cozy,” he said, nestling against his body. Instinct made him curve into the slope of his chest, and as he did, Casey settled his elbow on the back of the couch, lightly brushed his fingers along the bare skin over his collar. The kid leaned his head back, enjoying the moment of relaxation

“So … sports, I presume?” Chuck said, briefly touching Casey’s knee before shifting his attention to the TV. A stupid question, though, because nothing else gave his lover that glazed look in his eyes than two men fighting for position. Sometimes without pucks involved

Casey rolled his eyes, indicating two things: Yes and shut up. “Blackhawks. Just watch the game. You’ll learn something.”

Not that he wanted to, but if it meant he could stay where he was, and maybe sneak in an after-dinner nap while avoiding Maggie and Mother’s pointed hints about registering for stemware – well, it would take a crane to move him from this spot.

Chuck fell silent and closed his eyes, letting his chin rest against his chest. Gradually, out of the easy heated fog enveloping his body, he felt the warm hand on the back of his neck, Casey’s palm cupping his nape. The pad of his thumb rubbed in small circles, gently kneading the flesh. Skimming back and forth … it was nice. Innocent enough

The kid could feel tension ebb from his body; no Caseys, no General Beckman, just sinking into the couch, and sinking into Casey’s heat

Details became pleasantly blurry. There was a movement, bumping him slightly, and Casey brought his other hand down to Chuck’s knee cap. Long fingers clenched, released, stayed and gave a little massage. A few fingers trailed along the outside seam of his jeans, rubbing side to side. It was an absent gesture and the type of thing a boyfriend would do when they were cuddling on the couch. Just like the two of them. Like everything was normal.

“I’ve been thinking about it,” he heard, lips pressed to the whorls of dark hair over his ear. The words were rumbled so quietly, so low, that it took a moment to realize Casey had spoken. “I know how we can get by them.”

Chuck’s eyelashes fluttered at first as he struggled to regain his senses. He tried to put the syllables in logical order to make any sense, but gave up. “What … what’re you talking about?” Careful to keep his voice just as low, he turned his cheek to him, his dark eyes wary. “Get by them?”

“Mother would never interfere with anything work related,” Casey went on, his voice a husky murmur. “I’m going to tell them I have to take a conference call, and the only place quiet is upstairs. You can follow me up after a few minutes, eh?” The little squeeze on his knee was apparently to ensure he was paying attention. “Just a quickie.”

Chuck shifted, losing the warmth of his skin through his sweater. But on the bright side, at least now he was fully awake. “You’re insane,” he whispered. “You know that, right?”

“Fine. Plan B.” Even so, he sounded quite perturbed that A hadn’t flown very far. “Trash is full. I’ll take it out, and after a few minutes, you’ll follow me –”

“Let me ask this,” Chuck interrupted, attempting to remove the solid grip on his knee. “Do all of your plans include me following you?”

“Yep,” Casey affirmed softly, his fingers in back now twirling a few loose loops of hair. “I’ll find a point to rendezvous. Quiet. Out of the way.”

“They’re going to hear you.”

ldquo;Only if you keep fidgeting,” Casey growled. But even John Casey realized the insult tactic would get him nowhere, so the warm hand on Chuck’s knee slid up a tiny bit further. Getting very close. Leaning in, he barely mouthed against his cheek, “I’ll let you … suck me off …. You’ll like that, won’t ya?”

Chuck’s lip twitched. “Asshole.” He deliberately looked at the TV as if there was something interesting going on. “Watch the game.”

“Fine.” But Casey nudged him with an elbow after a few minutes had passed. “Got another one.&rdquo

“Seriously? That’s what you’ve been thinking of this whole time. I thought you liked hockey.”

Casey grunted, because he liked other things way more than hockey. “Even your delicate sensibilities will have to approve of this one, kid. We’re almost out of Scotch. You and I will head out to the store –”

“Oh? Really?” Chuck looked appropriately offended. “I thought I could follow you out like a puppy dog –”

“Park the car in back,” Casey continued, low enough for Chuck to strain his ears, “and –”

“Hold on. Are you serious?” His mind flickered with images, and Chuck jerked backwards, mouth open. “You’re suggesting we do it in your car?”

“What’re you bitching about,” Casey groused under his breath. “Vic’s got the leg room.” Since Chuck was too busy staring in disbelief and unable to argue, well, Casey took that as acquiescence. “Good.” He looked at his watch. “I’ll create the diversion –”

“Sweetie?” The boys turned in unison to see Mother signaling from the kitchen

ldquo;Uh, who? Me?” Chuck asked, tapping the front of his sweater.

“Hell, yes, you,” Casey let slip from the side of his mouth. “Mother doesn’t call me sweetie.”

Damn. Chuck had to think about it for only a second or two, but Casey was right. Casey was ‘honey’, and Maggie was … the spawn of the Devil mated with Medusa. 

“What are you two doing?” Mother inquired, taking a sip from a coffee mug she held between both hands

“Um, we’re just ….” Planning an escape route, allowing for a very brief sexual encounter in the back of Casey’s car? A dirty, hot, balls-deep romp, and if Casey had his way, a blow job in an orderly fashion? “We’re … well. Oh, we’re watching TV,” Chuck stammered, nodding at the set. “There’s a … game. So, right now, we’re watching ….?”

“Kid’s trying to say, hockey, ma,” Casey said curtly, because he had tried to teach him the basics at least, and this was not the time to seize up. “What is it?” Out of her sight, he tangled a dark curl around his finger, stroking him suggestively. “Because … we were getting ready to run to the store for –”

“He’s not going anywhere,” Mother announced pointblank. “We’ve barely had a chance to chat with Chuck, and this visit will be over before we know it.” She crooked her finger at the kid. “Let the boys have their hockey game, sweetie. We want to learn more about the young man who has my Johnnie wrapped around his pinky finger. Isn’t that right, Margaret?”

“That’s right. We’re keeping your boy toy, Johnnie,” she said, rounding the corner to stand beside her. “So just move along. I’m sure you can get to the store and back by yourself.” A thought occurred to her, which only made her grin broaden. “Oh, has he been trained to withstand interrogation techniques? You know, a little waterboarding if we don’t get what we want?”

“Margaret.”

“Okay, no waterboarding. How about this: is your little joy stick ticklish?”

“Eh.” He was getting better at not shrinking back at the sounds that occasionally reverberated in Casey’s chest, but that one was rolled in flames and dipped in ice. Though it wasn’t meant for him, Chuck instinctively scooted away from Casey

“Enough.” Mother waved her off with a dishtowel. “Don’t listen to her, Chuck. She’s teasing you to get a reaction out of her brother. I see it worked.&rdquo

When Maggie stuck out her tongue playfully at her brother and scattered back to the kitchen, Mother became serious, straightening into the familiar no-bullshit Casey stance. “I should tell you, Chuck, that even with Maggie just a few hours away, I don’t get to see her enough either. And God only knows when Johnnie will drag you back East again to visit,” she said dryly. “So join us girls in the kitchen.”

“But … I think maybe I should –” He shot a panicked glance at Casey. Help!

Wait a damn second.

Did she just do it again?

He spun around to give Casey a pleading look. Perhaps he should make a manly comment about the hockey game. But when he turned to face him, he saw his boyfriend’s lips tighten, as if he was envisioning his options.

ldquo;Casey,” Chuck gasped. “Do something.&rdquo

So he did. Without a word, Casey removed his arm from the back of the couch, copped one more feel of Chuck’s knee – and gave him a little push. Towards the kitchen.

Chuck’s butt slid, but he managed to stay seated. “No. Not that.”

“This way’s better. They’ll get some girl talk in, and won’t kick up a fuss when I say we’re leaving for the store.” At Chuck’s grimace, Casey flashed a cocky half-smile and grazed his knuckles along his cheek. “You can’t argue with them when they’re like this. Better report to your coffee klatch, Bartowski.” A wink. “I’ll get you out of there when this period’s over.”

“So, let me get this straight. My demise is being scheduled around a sporting event on TV?”

“Suppose that’s got your panties in a bunch, too, eh?&rdquo

Chuck stared. After an interminable minute, his dark eyes narrowed. “You know what? I really hate you sometimes.”

Casey chuckled in his ear, the one that went low and dirty and could make him forget to be mad. Almost. “Just keep those state secrets to yourself.” Leaning in, his lips swept his jaw, and a few fingers drifted up to caress his lips. “I’ll work them out of you later.”

-x-

“Chuck … sweet boy. Take a seat.” Ruffling his curls, Mother patted the empty counter stool next to Maggie. “How do you take your coffee?”

So much for the man swagger he thought he had mastered on the way to the kitchen.

ldquo;I’ll get it,” Chuck said, quickly pouring some. This was a temporary reprieve, because that seat had to be exactly like the gallows, save for the sugar and cream

Maggie, sitting next to him, put her elbow on the counter and got a long look at the kid, which let him do the same. Immediately, the thought of Fulcrum ate away at him. They wanted her research and life work, essentially her brain, almost as much as they wanted his. This from a woman who a minute ago had stuck her tongue out at her little brother

That was one of the dozens of reasons Chuck never could make heads or tails of women.

“How’s work?” Maggie asked. 

I de-fragged a hard drive? Was that how a young hotshot software developer for a military subcontractor spent his time? But when he considered the answer, he actually felt comfortable. Being an engineer and a nerd, it was a technical topic he understood, and this was Chuck Bartowski’s playground, wasn’t it

“It’s a project for a … F-117 Night Hawk.” Hah. Casey said video games were rubbish. “The cockpit software … well, it’s one of the most complex configurations to monitor. We’re upgrading the low band radars and circuitry to –”

“Wow. Sounds … fascinating, doesn’t it Ma?” Maggie said without taking her eyes off him. “Do you ever get to work with Johnnie?”

“Well, his job has more … flying and shooting … of things.” Chuck lifted his cup to sip at his coffee. “We see each other if he’s helping to test the software. In simulation.”

ldquo;Do the bosses know? About you two?”

“Our bosses?” Chuck frowned at the cracking of his voice. “N-no. We … well, John would rather keep that secret to himself. Ourselves, I mean.”

“Really?” Mother set her coffee mug on the counter and stepped in front of him. Two pale hands rested on his cheeks, gently yet firmly steering his face up. She stared at him with the sharpest blue eyes. “And what’s your opinion, Chuck? That my son prefers to keep you a secret.”

His stomach fluttered. They’d been careful, walling off the perfect cover relationship from the hidden and seemingly directionless real one. Still, it seemed she knew. And though he couldn’t move his head, he lowered his gaze to the apron she wore

His fault. He hated his eyes. No matter what he tried to hide, they always spilled the truth

“It’s a decision two people make.” He shifted on the stool, not remembering it being this uncomfortable. “Not just one. If he’s not ready to … move ahead, well, have you ever tried to walk through a brick wall?”

Mother clicked her tongue and let her hands fall to the apron. “I was married to his father for forty-two years, so yes.” She snorted softly. “Climbing over it beat the hell out of trying to go through it.”

That surprised a laugh out of the kid. Even Maggie had to smile, though Chuck was certain she couldn’t relate. Dan was the type of guy who’d stay calm when the oxygen masks fell from the trap door above his airplane seat.

Mother took the coffee pot and walked between them, filling all three cups. They listened to the blare of an air horn from the TV, the quiet hum of the guys’ deep voices. Whatever it was, they approved

Mother exhaled. “Once … I left a book out in the rain,” she said out of the blue

“A … book?” Chuck’s eyes filled with a question.

“Is this a clever way to change the subject?” Maggie looked up at her mother and nodded at Chuck, who was inwardly wincing for bringing up the relationship. “I’d like to hear Chuck’s plan for – what did he call it? Moving ahead?”

Mother gave her the ‘shush look’ and sipped off the top of her mug. “Yes, a book I hadn’t finished. When I found it … a few days later, do you know what had happened?”

Chuck shook his head dumbly, and for one moment, he wondered if Mother was okay. He could chalk up his bewilderment to nerves, perhaps, but her words made no sense

“The pages were sealed together,” she answered. “Each one adhered like glue to the other. Well. I knew the pages would tear if I forced them apart. I even tried at first. But when I did … they started to shred, and I knew if I kept going ... I’d destroy the words they held.”

“So, what did you do, mom?” Maggie asked, while Chuck just continued to stare up at her.

“At first, I was mad as hell. I wanted to know what happened … how it ended.” Mother chewed on her lip as she chose her words. “One time, I even packed the two of you up and stayed with Aunt Bette for a few nights, I was so damn mad at that book.”

“Mother?” Maggie’s blue eyes widened. “You left daddy? I don’t remember that!”

“You were three,” Mother told her. “Johnnie was one. Still in diapers. Besides, two nights isn’t exactly leaving someone.” She puckered her mouth, and her forehead creased. “More of a vacation, actually. Except for the two cranky toddlers.”

Chuck forgot to smile at that. By now, curiosity had taken over. “Has John ever heard this story?” he remembered to ask, glancing at the living room

“Of course not. And he never will,” Mother replied, tapping his cheek. Ouch. She made her point, too.

Maggie set her cup down. “What did dad have to do to convince you? To come back …?”

“What about dad?” Suddenly, Casey filled the doorway. He was shrugging on a jacket, car keys looped around his finger.

“Nothing,” Mother and Chuck said together. The kid added an innocent grin and fiddled with the handle of his coffee mug

That ploy rarely worked. Casey paused in the middle of setting his beer bottle next to the sink, taking his time to gaze at each one of them. “That so?” he asked, his voice sliding into that deeper register, sending prickles of heat to his middle. The next second, his hand landed on Chuck’s sleeve. Curtailing any protest, it fisted and pulled. “Let’s go, kid. Store’s waiting.&rdquo

And a rock hard cock. That, and he’d buy him Red Bull when they were done.

Something latched around Chuck’s arm. He jumped, but Maggie pulled back. “Drop the junior meal, Johnnie. You’ll have to go get your late night snack on your own. He’s staying.”

ldquo;Maggie’s right.” Mother’s hand came out to swat. “Don’t even think about taking him.”

“Ow. Sonovabitch,” Casey ground out, rubbing his knuckles. “What the hell, Ma?”

Mother put her hands on her hips. “We were in the middle of a conversation. A private one.”

Even with Casey giving them the dirty eye, the only thing Chuck could think was, God, don’t let her say girl talk.

Casey gave the kid a measured look, contemplating the exit strategy if he made one last grab and got the hell out. It chafed a bit that the motivation was not his rescue, but rather a jiffy lube in the back seat of the Vic

For that, he couldn’t help it. Chuck looked up at him, wet his bottom lip, and plastered on his sunniest crooked smile. “Looks like I’m staying, big guy.”

Casey squinted down at him, and they both knew what he meant. You wanna play, Bartowski? Because I’ll collect ….

Before the kid could open his mouth, Casey leaned down, dropped one hand to his jaw, and held it steady, kissed … just the corner of his mouth, a quick brush of warm lips and gone. Not enough of a demonstration to make Maggie tease him, but enough to send a ripple of response through Chuck’s body, drawing taut and low in his belly

Something to remind him he might’ve wanted that ride.

“Be good, sunshine,” Casey said, underlined with a sly reproof. Fingers grazed his jaw one more time. Buttoning his coat, he flashed a smirk and strolled out the door.

Chuck swallowed. It took him a second to realize Casey was still the sneakiest bastard he knew, because now he found himself thinking about plush leather seats when he should be politely listening to Mother’s story

“Ma, finish it,” Maggie said, breaking him out of his backseat fantasy. Climbing off her chair, she got up to dump out the bottom of the coffee mug. What happened … to bring you home?&rdquo

Mother shook her head. “He showed up on Aunt Bette’s door step after I had finally gotten you two to bed. He stood there … like a big dope. Still in uniform, looking … very handsome. And despite the stiff shoulders and strong jaw, I saw he was scared shitless.”

“Uniform?” Chuck furrowed his brows, and then remembered the story and gifts from the year before. The worn badge. The Colt revolver. “He was a police officer, wasn’t he?”

“That’s right,” Mother said. “Thirty-one years with the department.”

“What did he say, Ma? That night … he came for you.”

Mother took off the apron and rested her hip against the counter. “It was summer. One of those sweltering nights, so we sat on the porch steps …. His hair was damp, sweat trickling down his temple … but he’d never take off that jacket until he got home. So we shared a beer from the same bottle.”

“But mom, what did he say to you?”

She touched the hair at her shoulder, twisting a strand on her finger, maybe like the girl that night. “Hardly a dozen words,” she said

ldquo;That was it? He didn’t … let down his guard, or say … anything else?&rdquo

“No. But the few words he had …. They were the right ones.” Mother folded a dishcloth, draping it over the center of the sink to dry. “He said he wanted us home. He would … try.&rdquo

“Try?” Maggie looked at her intently, the lines around her eyes crinkling. “What did that mean?”

“It meant I spent years peeling back the pages of that book. I found out it wasn’t sealed after all, just hard to pry open.” A smile flicked across her face. “But worth getting to the end.”

Chuck drew a circle with his finger over the side of his cup. For once, he couldn’t think of what to say. But later tonight, lying next to the smooth muscle of Casey’s chest, fingers curled loosely on his lover’s hip, he’d pull apart her message, and maybe find an answer. Or the start of one.

By the time he remembered to look up, Mother was already watching him. She placed a cool hand on his cheek, startling the kid. “Sweetie, what time does Johnnie usually take his lunch break?”

Not what he expected, coming out of her mouth. Chuck puffed out his bottom lip as he considered how many ways he should not answer that question. “Between meetings and de-briefs?” And stocking toasters in aisle four? “The usual time, I guess. Why?”

“I think I’ll have lunch with him tomorrow, that’s all,” Mother replied.

“Uh-oh.” Maggie swiveled around in her chair and helped herself to a Christmas cookie from the plate left on the counter. “Mother, you’re not going to …?”

“Yes, I am,” Mother said.

Chuck tilted his head at her. “What … are you going to do?”

“Have a talk with my son, of course.” She folded her arms over her chest and picked away at something on her sweater. “Tell him he better get moving, or he’ll lose a good thing.”

The spike of panic brought Chuck off the stool and to his feet. He blinked at her, mostly in horror as the implication tumbled around in his head. “Wait! What about the book? Peeling away pages? Taking it slow?” Oh, and not to forget this pesky detail, but Casey would leave lanky body parts evenly distributed throughout Orange County for this!

Mother didn’t seem to get it. That he would kill him, that her son knew how to hide dead things. Her smile tightened, and she brushed a hand over his hair, patronizing, but he couldn’t be bothered with that. Dying was his more pressing issue

“That’s my advice to you. But it’s my prerogative as his mother, sweetie, to get involved if I think he needs … gentle persuasion.” She lifted her toes, rising almost eye to eye with him. “He’s my son and I love him,” she said, “but sometimes, I just have to kick his stubborn ass.”

-x-End The Kin Drops In Chapter Four-x-


	5. Chapter Five

The Kin Drops In

Chapter Five

-x-

Buy More  
Burbank  
22 December 2009  
11:53 am PST

“I can’t decide if your Jack Biggerstaff is incensed with you, Charles, or for once, your whopper meal is … sulk-king,” came a silky voice from behind. “Thoughts, Jeffrey?”

Chuck momentarily clamped down on the pen in his hand, and inching away, he continued to scrawl the repair details on a work order. “That has to be a new world record for you two,” he observed without looking up. “So many ways to get yourselves killed, all in one succinct sentence. Impressive.”

“Look at him, Chuck. Stalking. Circling the store like a giant panther, eyeing the quintessential cottontail –”

“And what’s in the bull’s-eye of the store? The Herder desk,” Jeffrey completed with reverence. 

“And who’s sitting at the desk,” Lester said, his grin sliding on like a grease spot, “pretending to fill out a work order from last week because he’s too spooked to go to the men’s room?”

“Where he’ll be corralled into my office –”

“Or similarly referred to as Casey’s lair.”

“By his dominant male playmate,” Jeff went on for him.

“Who will either lay siege to the unsuspecting rabbit.”

“Or infiltrate the rabbit burrow –”

“Okay, stop right there. There will be no … infiltration or sieging.” Cringing at how that sounded, Chuck spun around in his wheelie chair. “And keep your voices down,” he warned with a fleeting glance in Casey’s direction. It looked like the big guy had been pounced on by a customer in the tablets section, which meant Chuck had about a thirty-second reprieve before he shooed the person to the Realm of Nerds. In other words, he had to talk fast. “What makes you think something’s going on between us, anyway? Casey’s … just a friend.” At least according to those damn note cards Chuck felt burning a hole in his pocket. “We … carpool together.”

“The ol’ carpool shtick, eh?” Lester repeated, looking awfully smug for a man Casey could crush with the pad of his thumb. “Unless he’s got a rather … unorthodox way to collect halvsies on the gas money, I think you’re harboring a secret, Charles.” 

“A secret?” He didn’t blink, though it didn’t help that his voice had cracked. “There’s nothing going on between us. Nada. Don’t you two have work to do?”

“We have video,” Jeff said, leaning in closer. “From the roof.”

“The r-roof?” Chuck echoed, feeling his throat dry up. “Nothing happened on the roof.”

Lester chuckled, reminding Chuck of a cheesy villain’s laugh, and nudged Jeff in the ribs. “The evidence suggests otherwise, Charles,” he said. “Show him.”

“Show me what?” Oh, no. Remain calm. Do not freak out. 

Jeffrey reached into the front of his pants, dug around in his boxers for a minute – Commando Wednesday had been earlier in the week – and held up a tiny memory card. “Ma calls it hush money. You can just call it last week’s pay check.” 

“Wait a minute – besides the fact that that is incredibly disturbing,” and Chuck paused to wheel himself back a few feet, not certain whether to be more horrified by the content of the card or it’s mode of transportation, “but I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I call it the scary hot beef injection,” Lester explained, wise enough to glance towards the tablet display before rising on his heels with a smart-ass smile. “Or the jiffy stiffy –”

“Jiffy –?” Chuck jolted in his seat, his jaw dropping open. “Keep your voice down!” 

“But you can call it settling up for gas,” Jeff offered up, and he seemed serious. He followed that up with the creepy slow wink. 

“Give me the memory card.” Chuck took one look at it and held out his hand. “Now.”

“No can do, my friend,” Lester said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “We can, however, for the correct amount of remuneration –”

“Payola, they call it at the big house,” Jeff cut in, nodding.

“We can make this disappear….” Lester drawled.

“Or arrange for a two fifteen showing in the home entertainment room first, if you need to be convinced.” 

“Okay, I’ve heard enough.” Chuck waited and jumped suddenly, lunging for the memory card. 

But next to him, Jeff passed the device to Lester before he could get his fingers on it. Embarrassing. Spy training or not, how could a drunk out play him? “Looks like he opted for the show.” Jeff grinned. 

“Indeed. We’ll need popcorn,” Lester added, flourishing it out of Chuck’s reach.

“What’s this?” Morgan asked, snatching it out of his hand as he came up from behind. How his arrival could’ve been more perfectly timed, Chuck had no clue, but he was never more thankful for his best friend’s stealth.

“That’s evidence!” Jeff held out the waistband of his pants. “Put it back!”

Morgan’s face screwed up. “Move along, minions. Emmett’s looking for the person or persons who installed a booby cam on the bottom rack of the vending machine.”

Chuck tilted his head, visualizing the camera angle. “That’s … a lot of bending.” 

“Away!” Morgan held up his hands and herded them from the station. “Go. Before Casey swings around on his next lap.”

Jeff and Lester automatically looked towards the tablets. It worked, because the threat of the looming giant sent them scurrying for the break room. “I’m still collecting my kick-back!” Jeff called over his shoulder. 

Chuck shook his head, bewildered. “Have I told you that you’re a sidekick even Batman would be proud of? Thanks, little buddy.”

“I am your Samwise, dude. But an invitation to Ellie’s Christmas Eve dinner would be thanks enough.”

“Uh, that may not be the –”

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Morgan said, handing Chuck the incriminating evidence. “Your indoctrination to the mile high club, sir?”

Chuck grimaced and stuffed the memory card in his pocket. “The roof is only forty feet high,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his head.

“I meant your towering yet cuddly partner, my friend,” Morgan clarified. “I better talk fast.” He lifted on his toes, giving himself a better view in the direction of the tablets, but noticed the big guy was MIA. “I sense a disturbance in the force. A tiny bit of friction between my platonic soul mate and his side of beefcake. And not the sweat-inducing kind, I might add.”

Chuck wrinkled up the work order he couldn’t focus on. “It’s … nothing. Really. But I feel it is my duty as your platonic soul mate to warn you: if Casey heard any of the names you guys have for him? Well, I can’t be held responsible.” Chuck fiddled with the pen as he thought about it. “Not that there would be anyone – or even a body part – left for to blame me for this.”

“C’mon, talk to Dr. Morgan. What’s up?”

“I can’t ….” Chuck’s gaze shifted briefly to the aisle where Casey was holed up a minute ago. All right, if not Morgan, then who? His best friend was one of the few who knew the truth. Well, except for the whole spy, Fulcrum, and Intersect mess, but he knew what he had with Casey. That it was real. 

“Can’t or won’t?” Morgan prodded.

The kid blew out a breath. “Okay, here it is. The Casey’s are in town. And Casey’s mother is going to talk to him.”

“About?”

“Well … us.” Chuck ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. “She’s going to talk to him about ‘moving things along’.”

“Moving –? Oh.” Morgan caught the guilty look. “Let me get this straight. You talked to her about this – and not him?”

Chuck looked up, mildly offended. “I would never do that. She asked me to come into the kitchen and talk to her –”

“Oh, here we go.” Morgan folded his arms over his chest. “I see. Couldn’t get any information out of her son, so she went for you.”

“But I didn’t say anything,” Chuck contended. “One minute she was telling a story, looking at my eyes in a funny way –”

“Ah. Mystery solved.”

“And the next minute, she’s making reservations for a ‘Lay Down the Law’ lunch with her only son. She told him this morning when we left the house for work. Luciano’s at twelve thirty. Drinks included, firearms optional. Hey, hold on.” Chuck swiveled around completely to face him. “What do you mean, mystery solved?”

“Windows, Chuck. It’s a Bartowski curse. Ellie’s the same way.” Morgan sighed at the name of his not-so-secret flame. “One look, and Casey’s mom read ‘Non-committal Man kicks Waiting Puppy Dog’ headlines.”

“Okay, you can stop there –”

“Dude, wait … a … minute.” Morgan’s spine snapped straight. “Don’t you see? His own breed is turning on him to protect you! The Caseys like you, man!” He tapped Chuck in the chest. “What are they like anyway? Serpent’s tails? Oxen-like bodily features? Knuckle-draggers?”

“No, Morgan,” Chuck said dryly, frowning at his friend. “They’re actually as normal as any other family.” Chuck was quite proud of that answer. It was completely vague and left it wide open for interpretation. 

“Um-hmm. I see.” Morgan chewed on the tip of his thumb. “Which will make the arrangements … complex.”

“What arrangements?”

“Your funeral – after Casey gets back from lunch with his mother,” Morgan said. “He’ll kill you. She’ll send flowers. Ah, the irony.” He shook his head. “So unfair.”

“Hah. Hilarious,” Chuck replied, noticing his friend biting back a smile. “You’re messing with me.” He leaned back in his wheelie chair, a scowl crossing his face. “Glad my love life can amuse the masses.” 

“Sorry, man.” Morgan waved a hand to hold him off. “Before we get to back to your Master Woody, –”

“God, I hope for your sake that he never hears this –”

“– I have good news and bad news, my friend.”

“Of course.” Chuck figured his life story could be summed up pretty well in a lame joke. “Okay, hit me with the good news.”

“The memory card is blank.”

“Blank? Oh, thank God,” he breathed, sagging back in the chair. That night on the roof was not exactly a picture to send home to Ellie. She already looked at Casey a bit funny sometimes, and if she got even a whiff of what was most likely captured for posterity, she may never be able to look at either of them again without blushing. 

“Don’t relax yet. This is the bad news. The real one seems to be missing, according to a conversation I overheard in the break room.”

Dammit. Still busted. “But who? Where is it?”

Morgan clapped him on the back, a gesture of regret. “That, my friend, is a mystery for the ages.”

“Oh, crap.” Chuck lowered his head between his hands. “Can we get back to planning my funeral? That was a bit more fun than this.”

“Cheer up, Chuck. You want the simplest answer?”

“That would be preferable, so yes.”

Morgan scanned over his shoulder and turned back to look at Chuck. “He loves you, okay? That, I know. So no matter what happens today, or what she tells him, that’s not going to change. Oh, Red Bull. Thanks.” Morgan swiped the can and took a drink, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “And who knows? Maybe this is the kick in the ass he needs.” 

Chuck had halfway moved to grab the can from him, but decided to let it go. “You’ve been reading from the Book of Mother’s Teachings, apparently.”

“Trust me. Even your six feet plus of man meat will listen to his mother. The two of you will be spending your years attached at the hip. Hm. Or other anatomical areas below the belt.”

The kid rolled his eyes. Yeah? Or they could spend the rest of their days hiding from almost everyone and living alone.

“I can’t move in with him,” Chuck said, and attempted to focus on the next work order. 

Confusion wrinkled Morgan’s brows. “For whatever reason, dude, it sounds … lonely.”

Lonely enough to make his heart splinter, but as long as he was the Intersect and Casey was his handler, that was his life. And John’s. It meant waking up alone half the time, aching and bruised from the inside.

God, where did that depressing thought come from? 

Forgetting the damn work order and work altogether for a minute, the kid tipped back in his chair, stopping at the exact angle before it would come crashing over. He stared blankly at the rows of merchandise, and when a thought tugged at his senses, Chuck cocked his head in contemplation.

How could he tell him it would be enough? Having him here was enough. 

Slowly, like a trickle of water, a lop-sided smile spread over his face. “Morgan, I need your help.” 

“Anything, man.”

“The simplest answer,” Chuck said. “The gift. I know what I’m going to get him.” 

-x-

Outside Pickwick Gardens  
Burbank  
22 December 2009  
15:57 pm PST

“Get the worm loaded, Bartowski? Or do you wanna talk about it first?”

Well, now. That cleared up a few questions right away. Yes, John Casey was pissed, most likely at the entire spectrum of the universe and his boyfriend. Though not necessarily in that order. But on the bright side, at least he was talking to him now.

“Of course I did,” Chuck replied. “It’s me.” 

“Then move it,” Casey said. “Unless you want Fulcrum to notice an unmarked surveillance van in the parking lot.”

The kid blinked, letting his eyes adjust to the dimness of the cargo area. When they did, he saw Casey sitting towards the rear of the cramped quarters, a control panel and a half dozen monitors lining one sidewall. His boyfriend turned to him, the greyish-blue light casting shadows over his hardened profile. 

Chuck ran a hand over his pocket protector and smiled.

Casey stared.

Oh, right, time to trade in his lover for the serious operative model – at least for the next few hours. And this version came with a black tac vest strapped tightly over his chest, the look completed by dark pants and boots – the typical gear that went perfectly with the no bull-shit look on his face.

“Suppose she saw you, eh?” Casey asked, eyeing him from the sliding door, since Chuck hadn’t quite worked up the guts to climb in. He was still considering how safe it would be in such a confined space with an unpredictable, dangerous boyfriend. “Caught you red-handed? Waved a needle in front of your face and waited to catch the classified Intel with a bucket?”

Chuck glowered. “I would never do that,” he replied, deciding not to point out that Maggie didn’t even have needles in her brief case. “I waited until I heard her get into the shower. It just took a minute to load it on her laptop. Mission accomplished.”

“Hardly.” Casey stabbed his thumb towards the hatch. “When you’re done patting yourself on the back, Bartowski, you can get in here and close the door.”

Chuck tightened his hand on the side door, giving himself a little pep talk. He knew from experience that he had about three seconds to get in the van – or be put in the van. So with Casey’s gaze boring a hole in him, the kid reluctantly climbed in and slid the door closed behind him. 

Wow. He hadn’t noticed it before, but it was really quiet and stuffy in this particular government-issued van. 

“Uh, hey … sweetie.” Chuck pulled a devastating grin out of his arsenal as he took the seat next to Casey. “Oh – wait. We’re not on an open mic, are we?”

Casey rolled his eyes. “Hey, 007. May wanna ask that first, eh?” he grumbled, but let him off the hook with a shrug. “’Course not. Never know what’s gonna come out of your mouth, do I?”

The smooth layer of sarcasm over the answer was not a surprise. Neither was the fact that somehow all of this was his fault. Well, there went the ‘love forgives theory’, because this just blew.

Lapsing into silence, Chuck made a concerted effort to be spy-like as he stripped off his Buy More shirt, though the kid found himself repressing a shiver with the suddenly chilly air between them. His fairly limited relationship experience, however, told him nothing good came from holding back the festering emotions, the ugliness that bubbled under the surface.

That was when he stood straight and decided Casey probably wouldn’t kill him. So here goes.

“Since we’re being out in the open here, let’s just get it over with,” he said, tossing his shirt to the side. “How was lunch with Mother, anyway?”

Casey turned back to the control panel and grunted, the pissed-off sound that managed to convey perfectly that Chuck was never going to hear the details. “You done? Because now, it’s my turn to ask the questions.” 

“Uh, well, I was hoping –”

“Good. Here’s the first one.” Casey went straight for the front of his t-shirt and dragged him a little closer, staring at him in that utterly implacable way. “When you went in there last night,” he said in a low voice, “what did you say?” 

Chuck felt his belly coiling into a cross knot. “Um, in … the kitchen? To your mom and sister?”

“No,” Casey replied. “To Rudolph and Betty fucking Crocker.”

“Hah.” It was distracting, or maybe painful was the word here, the way his hand had some chest hair with the shirt. “I didn’t say anything.” Chuck swallowed. “Not that you’ll believe me.”

“That so?” Deliberating for a moment, he let go of his t-shirt, though it was obvious he didn’t buy it. “Mind telling me what happened in there?”

Chuck put his elbows on his knees and blew a breath. “I don’t know. Something just snapped with her, I guess.”

He looked up to find Casey studying him with narrowed eyes. “Still waiting for an answer,” he said.

“I’ll … show you.”

“Show me?”

“Yes. You said you wanted to know, right?” Chuck shifted his gaze down to Casey’s hands, and for a brief, absurd moment he enjoyed how huge and sturdy they were. That they fit him perfectly. Leaning forward, the kid took his hands in his, circling his wrists, and rubbed his thumb over the slope of his knuckles. He loved the feeling of his hands. 

Then tightening his grip, he lifted them. 

Or tried to lift them. Because that didn’t work so well. 

“Listen, killer.” Chuck smiled. “If you want to know, you’ll have to relax. Just a little?”

Casey slanted a wary look, but finally the large hands under his loosened enough for Chuck to pick them up. 

“Here,” the kid said quietly. The resistance stopped the moment he slid Casey’s palms against his cheeks. “That’s better.” And on instinct, being a hairsbreadth away, their eyes locked with one another. 

“Are you trying to make me forget that you haven’t answered?” The huskiness in his voice told the kid his resistance, maybe his anger, had begun to melt. “This foot dragging routine?”

“Okay. Patience. I’m showing you,” Chuck said, licking his lips, mindful of the way Casey’s eyes tracked down to his mouth. “Just this … with her hands.” He smiled against the touch of Casey’s thumb, not being able to resist giving a quick graze over his lips. “Your mother held my face. Her eyes reminded me of … you.” 

“Yeah? Something got her up on her hind legs,” Casey rumbled. Another warm swipe over his mouth, just the pad of a finger barely touching. “Care to get to that part, kid?” 

The next pass, he caught Casey’s thumb when it brushed by his mouth, nipped. “You have to promise not to get mad.”

“Pass.” Though he seemed to appreciate the overt flirting, Casey was not in the mood to play. Yet. He pulled his thumb to glide over his cheek, out of harm’s way. “What did you say? And cut the bull.”

“She did this, with her hands. And I … kinda told her I didn’t know how to move things along between us and she told a story – amusing, really – about a brick wall –”

“Oh, hell.”

“And cashews? Do they keep any cashews – or snacks of any sort, really, of the salty variety, in the government vans because you never know when – ow.” 

“God. How in the hell do you even do that? Cashews, Bartowski?”

“Ow. Your squeefing my cheeks!” 

“Then shut it.” 

Chuck tried to pry his mouth open to retort, but that was useless. So while the kid’s dark brown eyes studied his face, pleading with him to let go, Casey then did the last thing he expected. 

His boyfriend leaned in, close enough for the heat of his breath to touch his neck, and he kissed him. A faint tease of a kiss, a quiet coax to open up under him, reinforced by his warm hand tracing his ribs through his cotton shirt. 

Familiar. The light touch that meant I want to see you naked. Now would be good.

Loosening the hand on his face, Casey stroked the side of his head, fingers sliding into Chuck’s thick hair. How long they kissed like that, well, it was confusing, the way time began to blur. He only knew it was a kiss as smooth and warm as a pool in midsummer, and ending before Chuck could answer it, breathe him in, taste him. 

“You and me, kid?” Casey growled into his mouth, satisfied at Chuck’s groan of response. “We’re good.” He eased back to meet his eyes. “I’m not blaming you.”

Chuck nodded and smoothed a lock of Casey’s hair away from his temple. “Thank you for believing me.”

“It helps that those seem to be Mother’s exact words,” Casey said, splaying a hand over his t-shirt, crumpling it a little under his fingers. “She insisted none of this was your stubborn ass being pushy.”

“Hold on.” The kid tensed until he felt a hand settle around his waist, drop over the curve of one buttock. “I’m the stubborn ass?” 

“Heh. Maybe I should send you back in there with them.”

“Bite me.”

Casey obliged, lowering his head, his nose brushing Chuck’s cheek, his lips barely grazing the curls over his ear. When he cupped the side of his neck in his palm, Chuck forgot to breathe, only sensing his teeth digging in ever so slightly at the hollow of his collar. He stilled there, marking him with a certain possessiveness yet reassurance, taking pleasure in making the kid his own. 

Closing his eyes, Chuck was just as still, submitting to the tender love nip with a shiver running through his muscles. As Casey ran a palm alongside his head, ruffling his hair, the kid’s hand lifted, gripped his waist. For the short time they had alone, he wanted to tell his boyfriend his body missed its powerful reaction to him. 

Alone.

Within the safe private confines of the surveillance van.

Just as the thought flittered and took hold, Chuck pressed his thigh forward, aligning it between Casey’s legs. Impulsively, he shifted his knee, up and inside at his zipper. Yeah. Right there, big guy – and he meant that in several agonizing translations. 

Chuck’s hand, resting on his waist, slid around to the front, and lower. Perfect placement. He rubbed, his thumb finding the tip of Casey’s cock through his pants, back and forth, then the heel of his hand when that wasn’t enough. 

“You little shit,” Casey murmured against his neck, sounding equally parts pleased and taken off guard by the kid’s aggressive need. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Chuck teased, hearing Casey draw in a breath at the drag of fingers along the curve of his length, his nails scraping the metal zipper. When his boyfriend arched against it, straining for more friction, Chuck was fairly certain that it meant yes. Keep doing that.

Now that he had encouragement, Chuck ran his other hand down the rigid band of muscles along his arm, came around the front and found the hem of his black shirt. God, the vest? Blindly, he attempted to find the clasps that held the straps, fingers fumbling. At last, he heard a snap, and with his hand now plastered to the lower part of his abdomen, tracing tight circles, Chuck took his mouth in a firm open-mouthed kiss. Just as possessive, making his lips tingle. 

Like it when you’re hungry. Casey’s words echoed in his mind, words from a dark place. Uttered one night after Chuck had climbed into the shower after him, and ended when Casey pulled him into bed, kicked his knees out wider with his thighs, fucked him. I like it … when you take what you want. Now let me.

 

Wasn’t that a blanket of permission? /

“Casey?” Not waiting, Chuck pulled back the moment his knuckles slid up his ribcage, freeing that damn vest, and the shirt came dragging up over his head. “Need you ….” 

Casey smiled, which told the kid he felt him nearly trembling, anticipating how they would make creative use of such a tight space. The kid closed his eyes, his heart tripping as his lips breathlessly looked for the straying edge of Casey’s mouth. 

“Hey, hot stuff ….?”

“Mm-hm?” 

“Not happening, kid. Not now.” At that, Chuck felt his hand peeled back and placed on his own knee. “According to my team, Maggie’s left the apartment and she’s on her way.”

“What?” When Chuck gaped at him, Casey just smirked. “Then why didn’t you tell –!”

“So now I need your head in the game. This one,” Casey said, tapping his temple. “But hang on to that enthusiasm, eh, Bartowski? It will come in handy – for later.”

“But I thought … since we …?” Shit! “That we’re going to ….”

Casey shut him up with a shoulder-bite, and then drawing his lips along the fine bone of his collar, he kissed the side of his neck. “Right now, we’re going to make sure Fulcrum gets the infected laptop and get my sister out of there,” he said softly, his lips still close enough to skim the curve of his neck. “But later, maybe tonight, we’ll finish whatever you thought was going to happen.”

“You shit head.” Chuck’s brows drew together. “You weren’t exactly fighting me off, you know.”

“Hernández. Your position,” Casey demanded, because while Chuck sputtered, Casey had turned to the console and flicked a switch. “Where the hell are you?” Another flick, this time to the off position. “By the way kid, I should warn you, we’re gonna be on an open mic now.”

“Hold on!” The kid waved his hands, trying to signal for him not to flip the switch. “Explain to me. How did we go from my hand on your –”

A flick of his finger turned activated the communication link.

Casey grinned. “Tonight,” he mouthed.

“You’re a petty evil man,” Chuck mouthed back at him. 

“Sir, Jackson and Pettis are in position on the roof,” came a voice from the tactical radio. “Samuels and De Luca are at the southeast end of the lot. They’ve tapped into the CCTV.”

“Hey.” Chuck sat up taller and pointed at the laptop and monitors. “That’s my job. Why are they –”

“Not this time, princess,” Casey replied. As quick as he answered, he slapped a tac bag against Chuck’s chest, forcing the kid to let out a small oof. “You’re on the inside. Using that computer in your noggin,” he added, low enough not to be heard over the radio. “Put that on.”

“This?” It was the typical black nylon bag, crammed tight with something Chuck wasn’t sure he would like. “Let me guess. Service industry?” He shook his head and unzipped the bag. “Or a role in the maintenance-related job family?”

“Lucky day, champ. You get to be a Fulcrum agent.”

“Really?” Chuck blinked. “You mean, this time … I get to be the soulless bad guy?” 

“May want look in the bag first,” Casey said, though Chuck was already digging around.

“Wait.” The kid held up a jacket. “What the … are you kidding me with this?!”

“Problem, Bartowski?” Casey, however, was already enjoying his plight, if the small smirk was any indication. “Did they get your size right, sport? Scrawny geek, extra-long?”

“Yes, I have a problem!” Chuck held up his disguise to get a better look. “A light brown suit. Double-breasted suit with gold buttons? I’m going to look … like an idiot!”

“Or,” Casey corrected, “you’ll look like a nerdy Fulcrum scientist who gets a hard on when someone whispers neurological sweet nothings or flashes you a picture of an MRI.” The agent became all business. “Now put it on.”

“Great,” Chuck muttered, holding up the pleated pants that had to be from the 80s. “Why can’t I be the hard ass, or debonair for once? Why do I always have to be the nerd?”

“Look at you, kid.” It wasn’t helping that his supportive love mate was obviously biting down on the inside of his mouth. “They’re NSA analysts pulling this together. Not fucking miracle workers.”

“Didn’t hear you complaining a minute ago,” Chuck mouthed again, and then stuck out his tongue at him.

With his tongue still out, Casey narrowed his eyes and made a rude gesture – which prompted the kid to snap his mouth closed. “There’s more, tiger.” Casey reached into the bag, dug around, and when he found the object of his hunt, he held it up like a prize in front of the kid’s face. “One size fits all.”

“Oh, no.”

“Ever think of changing things up?” Casey said, twirling it on his finger. 

“Blonde?! A blonde wig?” Chuck gaped, nearly dropping the boring tan shirt he had begun to put on. “I can’t be a blonde – I mean look at me. Who’s ever heard of tall, vanilla, and handsome? I’ll look like a … like a dye-job pixie in that thing!”

“Keep your damn voice down,” Casey ordered, stuffing it under the kid’s nose. “Hey, look at it this way, Bartowski. At least they got the curls right.” Lifting his chin, Casey examined the offending hair piece, and gave it another twirl. “Though this one does remind me of someone who can grow pubic hair on top of their head, eh?”

“Pubi – eep!” The last of his protest broke off when a large palm slapped over his mouth. 

“Christ, kid.” Casey glanced at control panel. “You think my men wanna hear that shriek in their ears? Do I have to remind you again you’re on an open mic?”

Chuck gave him the stink-eye, mostly because it was manageable, considering the size of the hand covering half his face.

“And save that pissy look … for later.” Casey apparently deemed his penance over. His hand slipped down to his jaw, his throat, a finger brushing over the hollow of his neck. “No screw-ups. You’re on my watch now.” 

God, did he have to be … well, right?

So with no recourse, Chuck puckered his lips in a frown and reached into the bag again. “At least this can’t get worse,” he said. “What else … oh, no … really? A bow tie. Your NSA Masters of Illusion can’t come up with something better than that?” He tossed it to the side and folded his arms over the tan shirt, still not buttoned. “Okay, what about this, geniuses. My eyebrows. Who in the world is going to believe that a freaking albino has dark … oh. No, no, no. That’s just … wrong.”

Casey waved the thick black glasses. “Don’t worry. They only look like the bottom of a giant Coke bottle from the front. You’ll still have 20/20 vision looking through them.” He smiled as he handed them off. “No one, and I mean no one, is gonna notice your eyebrows wearing these things.”

“I don’t believe this,” Chuck groaned, trying them on. “Wow. I really can see through them, though.”

“Lemme see.” Casey steered his face around, and when he got a good look, he chuckled. “We call them BCGs in the Corp.”

“I don’t want to know,” Chuck said.

“Birth Control Glasses.”

“What did I just say?” 

“There’s a tiny camera at the hinge, right here,” Casey went on, ignoring him as he tapped it lightly. In an instant, an image of the side of Casey’s face appeared on one of the monitors. “Samuels and De Luca will be watching everything you’re watching. So will I.” 

Nerding out a little by the high-tech specs, Chuck waved a hand in front of his face and saw it fly by on the screen. “Hey, Casey, do you think they’ll mind if I keep these?”

“Last time I checked, Bartowski, you didn’t need birth control.” Casey swatted his hand down and mouthed, “Unless there’s something you need to tell me?”

“Ha. Ha.” Chuck rolled his eyes, exaggerated times ten behind the Coke bottle glasses, and began slipping on the pants. “Where will you be during all of this?”

“Inside,” Casey said, turning back to the control panel. 

“I thought you were going staying in the van.” Chuck grinned as he tucked brown curls up and under the wig. “While the rest of us are doing spy work?”

“Heh. Like I’d let my sister in that place with a bunch of Fulcrum agents.” A warm strong touch on his arm made Chuck glance up from his attempt at clipping on the bow tie. “And you,” Casey whispered.

Chuck gave him a shy smile, mildly surprised Casey had added those last two words.

“So keep your head out of your ass in there.” 

The smile fell from his face. “You were doing well there for a minute. Just sayin,’” Chuck whispered.

Casey shrugged, and like a switch, his mien shifted from semi-flirty boyfriend to agent with an itchy finger. “I’ll be out of sight. But if Samuel alerts me to so much as a sideways look or a damn mouse farting, I’m getting the four of you out of there. Got it?”

“Four?”

“The other two civilians?” Casey was getting better at dealing with Chuck’s idiosyncrasies, because he withheld the numb nuts. 

“Oh. Got it.”

“Good.” Casey nodded. “Now hold still.”

“Why – ah! Geez, Warn me before you do that, will you? I would’ve smiled, or at least prepared myself.”

In answer, Casey chuckled at the picture he had just taken, now filling the screen of his iPhone. “God, Bartowski, you do look like a cross between Pee Wee Herman and Marilyn Monroe.”

“Next time, I’m picking the cover disguise.”

“Just look the other way, will ya?” Casey said while he thumbed the screen. Then he mouthed, “Hurting my eyes and taking all the fun out of thinking what I’m going to do to you later.”

Chuck eyes went as wide as silver dollars under the magnified lenses. Then glaring, he mouthed, “You’re sleeping in your car tonight.”

Casey grinned, knowing after what had just happened, Chuck would be putty in his hands, and spoke into the comm. “Hernández. The rest of you, listen up. I just sent a picture of an … analyst who will be undercover inside. If this op goes in the toilet– which it will not – I want to remind you, your priority is to get the civilians and the analyst the hell out of there. Copy?”

“Whoa,” a voice came back. There was a pause, but Chuck swore he heard tittering – those assholes! – coming from Casey’s team in the background. “Yes, sir,” Hernández finally managed, a smile in his tone.

“Do I look that bad?” Chuck asked. He smoothed the brown pinstriped jacket and adjusted the glasses over his nose. “Is it the tie?”

Casey arched a brow at him, contemplating good and hard. “Yeah … yeah, kid. It’s the tie.” He sunk his teeth into his top lip for a moment. “I need you to focus, eh? You keep an eye on Maggie – and that laptop. The moment you see the swap –”

“Or the second I sense they’re on to us –”

“You hit the panic button on your watch –”

“And the good guys will come belaying in from the ceiling with guns, and other sundry weaponry, blazing. I’ve got that too, big guy.”

Casey squinted at him and flicked off the comm. “And if you flash on something that –”

“Makes me want to run screaming, I stay calm and hit the panic button,” Chuck finished, getting a little perturbed with Spy Camp 101. “Is that it?”

“No.” Casey reached into the tac bag one more time. “The fake moustache has a communication device embedded in the … well, shaggy hair. If you need me for anything – and not that way, Bartowski – you just have to say it.”

“Oh, this is just great. It looks like the hungry caterpillar – after Thanksgiving.”

Casey slapped it over his lip and turned on the mic. “And stay away from the crab puffs. Don’t wanna get any flakes interfering with the link.”

“I still hate you.”

Casey grinned.

“Sir, the gopher and the walrus have entered the facility, and le puma is parking her car,” Hernández said.

“Who are they?” While he squinted at one of the monitors, the kid shrugged on the ugly brown jacket and clipped on the identification badge. “Is that code?”

“Yes. It’s for the civilian scientists Fulcrum thinks they’re going to use for their Super Intersect.” Casey opened a small case, held up a gun to admire it, and began strapping it to his thigh. “Why?”

Chuck looked away, wondering when that became sexy. Great. Maybe some faulty wires in the Intersect had given him a gun kink. Shaking his head to clear it, he fished out his phone and pulled up an app. “Kudos to me for remembering ninth grade Spanish,” he said, grinning at the screen. 

“Hm? What’s that look for?” Casey asked, tucking spare rounds into his vest along with a row of smoke grenades. 

The kid’s eyebrows – or what was visible at least behind the thick glasses – climbed to his hairline. “Casey, I have to ask you: is your sister the only scientist of the … female persuasion that Fulcrum is meeting today?”

“Yeah. As a matter of fact, she is.” He looked up from pocketing a few more grenades. “Why is this important to you, Bartowski?” 

“Le puma? Spanish, right?” The fake moustache began to wobble on Chuck’s lip, like a caterpillar having an epileptic fit. He had to pinch down hard not to laugh. “Who … who came up with the code names, anyway?”

“My team,” Casey answered, the muscles along his arm twitching as he strapped on an ankle holster. “Do you find something amusing, Bartowski?”

Reaching over him, Chuck flicked off the comm. “No, not particularly. I’m just wondering how to keep you occupied so you don’t kill someone tonight.”

Casey shoved a clip in his SIG with a menacing snap, and turned to eye him. “Why?”

The kid leaned in, attempting to kiss the scowl off his lover’s face. Casey let him try without getting involved in the process, and Chuck figured it was the wig. Or the glasses. 

“Sweetie?” Chuck murmured against his lips, not able to fight the grin any longer. “I never quite saw your sister this way, but you might want to keep an extra eye on your men tonight.”

Casey grunted, the one that said he may have some ass-kicking to take care of when all of this was sorted out. “One more thing, Bartowski.”

Chuck gave up on trying to kiss him, and pulled back. “Yes?”

“To answer your question, twerp, it won’t take a brilliant scientist to figure out how you’re going to keep me occupied tonight.” 

-x-

Pickwick Gardens Conference Center  
Burbank  
22 December 2009  
17:05 pm PST

“Okay. It looks like your sister made it past the double doors when she showed her credentials. I should thank Rolando for that, by the way. They waved me right through when I flashed his identification. There’s a suave guy escorting her – he kinda gives me the creeps.” Chuck tilted his head at the man. “From this angle? He’s like a Lando Calrissian back-stabbing type. Do you remember the –”

“Before you even think about finishing that, just remember, Bartowski, I can shoot the wing off a gnat on a blonde wig from seven hundred feet.”

“Hah. Anywaaaay, it looks like he’s taking her towards one of the conference rooms.”

“Where?” Casey demanded into his earpiece. “Get your skinny ass a little closer and tell me what’s going on.”

Did Casey have any idea that being tossed into a snake pit of Fulcrum scientists with nothing to protect himself but thick lenses and a dyed wig was a little unnerving? And that it would go a whole lot better without a pissed-off boyfriend slash NSA agent snarling in his ear the entire time? 

“Casey, I have a question for you.”

“What is it now?” he came back, impatience seeping through the ear mic.

“I was just wondering,” Chuck began, and he pivoted around, pretending to study his face in the vestibule mirror. “Can you … see the video from my glasses?”

This puzzled the big guy for a second or two, possibly concerned that he was missing something. “Yeah, I’m watching it on my phone. The same feed being relayed to the van.” There was a pause. “Why?”

“Good.” Chuck glanced over his shoulder, looked dead straight in the mirror, and discreetly flipped his middle finger at the reflection. “Stop growling in my ear! Let me do my job!”

Another pause, much longer. “Bartowski?” Casey rumbled silkily.

Uh-oh. So it wasn’t his most mature move, but he did deserve it.

“Y-yeah?” Chuck turned around and smoothed his beige pocket square, his eyes following Maggie and her Fulcrum escort. 

“If you raise that finger one more time, I will pluck it off, wrap it in the Marilyn wig, and stuff both down your throat. Copy?” 

Chuck didn’t trust his voice to work, what with the sudden clot of saliva building up, so he nodded, hoping Casey could see the camera motion. 

“Good. Now get your ass in the game!”

“Okay, just give me a minute,” Chuck insisted. He clenched his fists, took a deep breath, and began strolling casually towards the largest conference hall. It was typical, he figured, an ocean of tasteful maroon and gold carpet, tiered crystal chandeliers, and white tablecloths that made it all look bland enough. 

Well, bland except for the sheer number of Fulcrum agents concentrated in one area that immediately set off the Intersect like a pinball machine. 

“Oh, crap,” he said under his breath. “Not good.”

“What the hell is going on?”

Samuels was listening in to the comm, and he probably wasn’t privy to that little secret. “Um, I’m just … impressed, that’s all,” Chuck said, holding his forehead. “Fulcrum must be well connected. Who knew they’d have Grand Master Flash spinning the discs?”

“Roger that, Bartowski.” Casey picked up on it, of course. “Can’t wait to hear the titles of those songs,” he said, sounding pleased that they’d be able to bring some heads on a platter to Beckman after this. “Where’re the civilians now?”

“The guests are being introduced to a few scientists,” Chuck whispered. “They’re keeping them separated … at different tables …. Huh. It looks like they’re … well, schmoozing actually. Your sister’s having a good time so far with her scientist friend.” 

“Keep your eyes on her – them,” Casey ordered. “I want those glasses pointed at the civilians – I want to see everything going on down there.” 

“Down there?” Chuck couldn’t help it. He looked up at the ceiling. “Where … are you anyway?”

“Bartowski?” Even the tiny transmitter picked up a growl fierce enough to make Chuck’s toes curl. “Why the fuck am I looking at ceiling tiles right now? I told you to keep your eyes on them!”

“Oh!” Chuck’s head snapped down and he turned to quickly count three civilians. Still safe. “Sorry, so sorry, I keep forgetting about the glasses,” he mumbled as he adjusted them. “Wow. This is going to be really awkward if I need to use the urinal.”

“You wouldn’t be able to do that without the necessary body part, now, would ya?”

Chuck rose on his toes and coughed politely to avoid small talk with a passing scientist. Nice cover banter, Casey, but more threats? Because really, Casey would be the first one bitching if he didn’t have that particular toy available in his cache of playthings. 

“So, you didn’t answer.” Chuck swept the room with the cam-glasses before stopping at Maggie, now shaking hands with yet another piece of traitorous scum. “Where are you?”

“The catwalk.”

“Where’s that?”

“In the auditorium,” Casey said. “Above the stage. There’s some scaffolding up here. I’m about thirty feet up.”

“How did you …. You know, never mind.” Chuck huffed. “They’re beginning to herd them into a room. It looks like one of the conference rooms. What do I do?”

“Follow them. Remember, you’re Rolando. You’re eager to hear them present their studies. So, go.”

Watching one of the agents steer Maggie towards an entrance, Chuck had to pause. He hadn’t really looked at her since the mission began. Really looked at her. Because up until now, it had just been a jumble. His nerves. Casey’s annoyance – and face it, his boyfriend’s unease with his own sister being placed in a dangerous situation. 

This made it real. From across the room, he watched her face light up with a smile, talking animatedly about her life’s work. One by one, she was introduced to the thieves who would steal her research. 

And as Chuck pointed the goggle lens and studied her, he felt his heart sink. God, yes, she was pain the in the ass, but he hated Fulcrum for using her like this.

“I’m following the one who’s leading your sister. Casey, they’re taking each one into a separate room.”

“You stay with her.” It had to kill him to have to say it, to single her out from the others in front of his team. Weakness, it screamed.

Obediently, Chuck assumed his most confident walk, tailing a dozen paces behind Casey’s sister. This should be easy for a fledgling spy, right? By now, he almost had his spy card and full benefits, if such a thing existed. The kid watched through the thick glasses, noticing Maggie had a short conversation with someone at the door, and after some pleasant chatter, she was ushered into the conference room. 

Bracing himself, Chuck followed.

But a man in a suit nothing like the one he wore began to push the door closed in his face.

“Excuse me.” Chuck dropped his foot in the opening before the door could swing shut. “I’m supposed to be in there.”

“Who the hell are you?” the man asked.

Chuck flashed his badge quickly under his nose, and the GQ cover man swept his eyes over it. “Rolando,” the kid said dutifully. “And I’m supposed to be in there.”

While he smiled at the man, he heard in his ear, “Knock him out if you have to, Bartowski.”

Helpful, Casey. With what? The friggin’ wig?

The man looked at his badge, then at Chuck. He seemed speechless for a moment. “Rolando. Huh. I heard about your accident, but I …. Okay. They’ve … left by now. You’ll have to follow the route through the back hallway.”

They left? The back hallway? What the hell?

“Thank you.” Chuck nodded and grabbed his badge from the man. When he was out of earshot, he whispered, “Did you see that, Casey? I can be a spy.” 

He slinked around the corner and flattened himself against the wall, because he had seen both Sarah and Casey do the same, right before they yelled at him for not staying in the car. Of course, they usually had handguns pointed in the air straight ahead, ready to take out anyone in their way, while the kid could currently catalogue his firepower as a lens cam and an ugly suit. So not fair.

“It’s dark. What do you see?” he heard in a grouchy voice. “What’s going on?” 

Chuck took a moment to make sense of the room he had been allowed to enter. Which was a challenge, he thought, since none of it made a lick of logic. The bolstering words of ‘being a spy’ no longer swarmed in this head. 

Now that the kid stared at an empty conference room.

Empty? Now what?

Chuck turned in a circle, searching the darkened space – the unfilled chairs, vacant podium, blank walls – but Maggie Casey-O’Byrne, doctorate fellow and Fulcrum target … was gone. 

“Maggie?” Okay, fine. That broke his cover and the rules of the game in ten different ways, right there. But still, no answer. Chuck felt a very sharp sense of an uh-oh begin to fill his chest and spread through his belly. “Is anyone here?”

In his mic, he heard Casey groan at the breach of protocol. “Bartowski, that’s it. I’m coming down.” 

“Casey?” Chuck said quietly so that his voice wouldn’t carry. “I think we have a problem. Rolando may have lied. Maybe they didn’t want just the briefcase, big guy.”

“What the hell are you saying?” he heard in his ear along with some rustling. Wherever he was, Casey was on the move.

“They took them somewhere else. They’re not here.” A ripple of panic ran through him, making the hair on his neck stand on end. “John, I think it was more than the research. I think Fulcrum wanted your sister.”

-x-End Kin Drops In Chapter Five –x-


	6. Chapter Six

The Kin Drops In 

Chapter Six

-x-

Pickwick Gardens Conference Center  
Burbank  
22 December 2009  
17:42 PST 

When the door behind him swept shut with a sharp clack, Chuck didn’t pay much attention. He was staring at the rows of empty chairs facing a podium, lit by a pinpoint beam of light. The room had the same hollow barrenness as the pit of his stomach. 

“Where the hell are they?” Casey growled in his ear.

“John, do you see this? How would I know? There’s … no one here!”

“Point those Goddamn nerd glasses around the room. Slowly. I want to see everything.” 

Obediently, Chuck did as he was told. “Okay, I hope you can see this. There are two exits. One to the right of the podium, one to the left. What do I do? Which one?” 

“See if they’re locked.”

“Got it.” As Chuck strolled through the conference room, he listened, able to discern movement and shuffling through the earpiece. “Casey? What are you doing?”

“Climbing off the catwalk,” he said. “I’m coming down.”

“Be careful.”

A sardonic snort blew into his ear. “Did you just tell me to be careful?” Meaning, you do realize my team is listening to this?

“Uh, copy that, Major,” Chuck said. “Just being considerate of the NSA cleaners.” And probably not necessary, considering Casey had more HALO jumps under his belt than a Navy Seal.

“The door to the left is unlocked.” Chuck cracked it open, just an inch or two at first, peering through to the other side. “There’s a hallway. I don’t see anybody.”

“It’s empty?” The words hissed in his ear. “You’re sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. What do you want me to do?”

A grim hesitation as he balanced the danger. “Okay, take it,” Casey said after a moment. “See where it goes.”

“Are you … there are a dozen doors along here. Any hunches?” Chuck tested one, then the next, and started to scrub his hand over his head until he remembered the wig. “They’re locked, though.” 

“What’s that straight ahead? Point the glasses that way.” A breath, then he said lower, “Ah, shit. This damn rope.”

Chuck straightened, picturing a near fall from thirty feet. “Can you put your phone down and concentrate on the catwalk?” Sweetie? “Just for a minute?”

Talk about a balancing act, because with the team listening in, he shouldn’t have said that, either. 

“Sir, we’re on the roof,” another voice said over the airwaves. “What are your orders?”

More silence while he considered the options. “Stay. We don’t need to blow the roof off the damn thing – yet. That’ll just let them know they have visitors.” 

“Casey, uh, Major?” Chuck made an effort to slowly pan the area with his nerd-cam glasses. “What are your orders?”

“Oh. You little bastard,” he heard murmured into the mic.

“Who?” Chuck stilled. “Me?”

“No, not you,” Casey said, keeping his voice low. “They just brought her into the auditorium below me, from the side. I’ve got eyes on them now.”

“Who?” 

“Two agents with Maggie. Very unlucky agents,” Casey added under his breath. “That’s it. I’m going in. The rest of the place is empty.” 

“Not quite,” the kid heard someone say. A muffled voice, and he almost turned and raised his hands, until he picked up on the fact the voice came through the earpiece.

“Agent Casey. How nice of you to join your sister.” 

-x-

“Don’t turn around,” the man said smoothly. Casey’s skin itched at the arrogance dripping from it. “Stay where you are.”

“Casey?” Chuck blurted in his ear. “If you’re hearing this, you might want to run.” 

Thanks, cupcake. Don’t know what I’d do without the Intersect on the case.

“Keep your hands on the guide rope over your head,” the thick voice behind him went on. 

Casey lifted his arms begrudgingly, gripped the ropes. “You’re making a mistake. You don’t have a chance of –”

“Up higher, where I can see them. Or, I can pick off your sister from here. The red hair makes her quite an easy target, don’t you think, Agent?” 

“Casey, what’s happening?” Chuck buzzed in his ear. “Say something!”

“Kinda the way Fulcrum’s odor makes it an easy target,” Casey suggested coolly to the dickhead behind him. “Follow the stench of traitorous garbage, and you find the garbage.”

“Eloquent, Major.” Something cold settled above his collar, pressed in. “Keep them there. That’s a good boy. Don’t want anything to happen to your pretty sister.”

“Pretty. Heh. But have you talked to her yet?”

“Hernández. Samuels.” Chuck’s voice, low but keeping it together. “My agent’s in trouble. You can hear this, right? I … uh, we, want the team in here now. This is no longer a covert operation. Bring … uh, big guns and ammo. Lots of it.”

All right, not too shabby. Good nerd, taking charge. 

But as he followed the orders of his captor, stretching out his arms along the ropes in plain sight, Casey heard no answer. The kid had to be listening in on the same. Just a few crackles of static.

“Agent.” The man’s voice sounded amused. “You came in here expecting a gun fight today, based upon the impressive weaponry you’re carrying. First the one in your pants, hm?” 

“Fulcrum recruited you ‘cause they were short one smart ass, eh?”

“Shut up.” The man tried to work a wince out of him with a hard poke of the gun. A hand that came way too close slid up his leg and down, removing the knife strapped to his upper thigh, then a Smith and Wesson from his boot, and a few flash bangs in his vest. 

Usually he toted more fire power than that, but he had been traveling light this time.

“Guys?” 

Casey’s jaw flexed as he listened. The kid’s voice was creeping to the edge of panic. 

“Casey, they’re not answering. I know you can’t talk to me right now, but what the hell am I supposed to do?”

“Get out.”

“What?” the man asked.

“Your hand is in my pocket, and I’m telling you to get it the hell out.” Casey spoke slowly, just in case Chuck was going to revert to being a moron and wasn’t catching on. “You can get the gun off the back of my neck. I’m not going to be a hero here.”

“Okay,” Chuck said in his ear. “I know what you’re doing. But you can’t expect me to just –”

“And what’s this?” The man’s fingers slid into his ear, a cold touch along the surface, and the earpiece slipped out. “Say Goodbye,” the man said into it. 

And crushed it with the heel of his shoe.

-x-

Another dead end at the stairwell. God, really? What, did Fulcrum choose this place just for the terrible and confusing floor plan alone? The conference center had more hallways than the damn Pentagon – and Chuck had flashed on the blue prints of the military facility long ago, so he knew for a fact it was a maze. 

The entire time he wandered the main floor, no matter how frustrated he was, or how much sweat pooled under the wig, only four words had significance.

What would Casey do?

Not what was Casey going to do when he found out his asset had willfully disobeyed a direct order. No, that was pretty clear. It was not helping that the images of the aftermath, in full Technicolor as they seeped into his brain, involved a holding cell at Castle, velvet rope, and maybe a riding crop. 

That, right there? Not helping.

Chuck lined his back up to a wall – like that would do any good if someone came around the corner – and squeezed his eyes closed. Okay. Breathe. 

When the communication link with Casey ended abruptly, the kid had doubled back, heading for the exact place Casey would order him not to go. The auditorium. 

He hadn’t quite figured out what he would do once he got there, since for one, he was unarmed, and two, even if he was armed, Casey had only trained him in shooting at the paper cut-outs of bad guys at this point. Chuck had balked at people. So unless the Fulcrum agents were willing to stand there flatly and unmoving, and not point a gun at him … well, something told him they wouldn’t quite be that accommodating to a kid who only just passed his firearms safety training. 

Chuck slid the badge between his fingers, thoughts jarring in his head. Maybe What Would Casey Do needed to come off the table. He didn’t have the fire power, the aim, or a fist that could crack a block of cement, so no. Plan B. Instead, the kid had to ask himself, what would a smart nerd with a computer in his brain do? 

The feeling of calm lasted about three seconds.

That was how long it took for Chuck to round a corner and bounce off the chest of a very large man. 

Holding an extremely shiny gun pointed at his midsection. 

“Gah! Don’t shoot!” He brought his hands up and flashed a panicky grin. “I’m just one of the scientists!”

The man lifted a brow and signaled with the barrel of his gun. “What are you doing down here?” 

Devising an escape plan, armed with a wig and a little charm? 

Chuck tried to look past the tip of the gun to the man pointing it at him. He was close to Casey’s size, making the kid wonder why Fulcrum agents only came in extra-large. He had absolutely no idea what to do now, but his attention drew behind the man, to a security door. 

Which meant Casey and Maggie had to be stashed somewhere behind that door. And he had to get back there.

Dear God, please let this work.

“There you are,” Chuck said, straightening his bow tie and immediately regretting that maneuver, since it did nothing for his badass personae. “They said you would be here.”

“Yeah?” The gun stayed level, exactly where it was. “Who are you?” 

Chuck lifted his hands, palms flat, and smiled. “I can get my badge, if you’ll lower the gun. Didn’t they tell you Rolando would be here?”

The gun relaxed the tiniest amount. “Rolando ….” He seemed to consider the name while he squinched at the badge. “You didn’t answer my question. Why are you here?”

His heart had gone beyond thumping like a jack rabbit, and was now hitting new speed records against his chest. Still, Casey and Maggie were captives, his team was trapped, and he had to get behind that door. 

How to do that was a mystery, but blocking out the constant stream of cursing in his head, Chuck locked eyes with the man. Navy blue suit, sandy hair, light green eyes, and a tiny scar at the slope of his jaw. 

“I’m here to, ah –”

The flash all but bitch-slapped him across the face. 

A Red-eyed tree frog on a leaf

A coffee plantation 

Stacks of in colones in a tattered leather suitcase 

The dark-haired mayor of Heredia, wearing a torn and bloody dress, standing next to a barb-wired fence

The frog 

“Oh, crap.” Chuck pushed the glasses back up on his nose while his vision swam with images. He grabbed on to one and held on. “Well, let’s put it this way. I’m here because I don’t want another … incident similar to Costa Rica.” The kid shook his head in mock remorse. “Tsk. Misplacing the mayor like that? Allowing her to skip out on a meeting that was set up for her as the guest of honor … Calderon?”

Agent Calderon stiffened. Chuck felt a spike of horror that the hand holding the gun did as well. “How … that wasn’t me,” the man challenged. “Not … all on me.”

Chuck’s throat bobbled as he eased a few steps away. “Of course … not. I’m sure it was a misunderstanding.” He glanced over at the door. “Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to get back there. I have … a meeting of my own, actually. Unless you’ve … lost these prisoners already?”

Calderon studied him a few seconds – or an eternity, because losing track of time was just one pitfall of having a gun pointed at your gut. 

Right when Chuck decided he was dead man, Calderon stepped out of the way. “You know the code,” he said, nodding at the key pad.

“Of course,” Chuck said drily. “The … code.”

The code? Why did there have to be a code?! 

Chuck drew in a steadying breath, turning his back to the man to punch in a code – any damn code. His hands shook over the key pad. Four numbers. He waited for the inevitable. 

The light on the keypad flashed red.

Yep, dead man.

Chuck straightened and pivoted around, too busy freaking out to look at the gun. “You botched the code. Let me ask you this. Do we still have our guests in custody, or do we have another … Costa Rica screw-up?” 

“I didn’t screw up,” the man gritted out.

“Mm-hmm.” The kid reached into his pocket and took out his cell phone, though he had no clue who he would be calling. Take-out for Bamboo Dragon? But he gave him a look and began scrolling through his contacts. “Did you say you’ve been with the organization for how long –”

“I didn’t say,” Calderon cut in. He turned towards the door, ran his card through, and punched in the code. “And I didn’t screw-up. That was the code.”

Move it, he could hear Casey growl. So as the tiny LED light flashed green on the control panel, and he heard the metallic click of the door disengaging, Chuck grabbed the handle and tugged it open. 

“Well, maybe no Costa Rica debacle this time.” He scooted in behind it and began to pull it closed. “I’m going to do you a favor, Calderon. Let’s just keep this between the two of us, shall we?” 

He didn’t give him time to respond before the door shut in his face. 

-x-

“Oh, God. I can’t believe that worked.” Chuck rested his back against the door, tipped his head and closed his eyes. Heaved the air constricting his lungs. “Casey, where the hell are you?” he asked under his breath, the quiet babble helping to settle his nerves. “And better yet, where’s Hernández and your damn team?” 

He finally looked ahead, noticing he was in another narrow hallway. Dithering for a just a second, the kid strolled in the only direction he could, ignoring the voice in his head telling him he was trapped now. He told himself that at least he couldn’t pick the wrong door this time – because there was only one to choose. It was at the end of the passage, where the light dimmed, which meant maybe there was no one around ….

Oh, who the hell was he kidding? 

Chuck halted in front of the door – and just his luck, there was no inset glass to tell him what was beyond it. He took a moment to wipe his sweaty hands down the ugly brown pant legs, because it would be embarrassing if the door knob slipped out of his hand. 

A jiggle, then another just to test it out. The knob turned. 

“Okay, this could be the wrong place,” Chuck murmured, hearing his voice quiver. He leaned in, placing his ear against the door, and closed his eyes to listen. 

Nothing. He started to give it a little push – 

And the kid stumbled backwards, arms flailing, when the door popped open on its own. 

“Why on earth did you do that?!” In the part of his mind that could still process thought, it occurred to him he shouldn’t shout at a man who could fill a doorway in the same way his boyfriend could – without room to spare. 

“Hey, idiot.” The man gave him a look body builders reserved for the proximity of nerds, and sniffed. 

“Holy ….” Chuck began before his throat dried up. How could it get creepier? The man was the mirror image of Max, a video game character Morgan had built when they were in eleventh grade. Staff Sergeant Max FightMaster in the flesh, right down to the brush cut hair and jaw that would rival a certain Major’s. 

This would be totally awesome if it wasn’t wholly terrifying. 

“’Bout time you got your ass down here,” Max FightMaster grumbled. Chuck blinked, and an enormous paw shot out, grabbed his lapel, and pulled him into the room. “Said they were sending a nerd down half an hour ago.” He slanted a look over Chuck, sizing him up, and said to himself, “Whoa, they weren’t kidding.”

God, Chuck despised the NSA undercover team right now.

“The scientists got their panties in a knot over this laptop,” the man went on. “Told us not to touch it, or even take it out of the bag. Not until one of their own species gets down here to collect it.” He laughed at his own joke when it was obvious Chuck would not. “Good thing you’re here to take your little toy. Hate to have you get queasy over a little … rough stuff.”

“R-rough stuff?” Chuck asked. 

“Yeah. The lady researcher and her big brother.” Max the Brute tipped his head in the direction of yet another door, off to the right of a table and chair where he had been waiting. “Getting ready to ask them a few … questions.” He grinned at the thought, revealing two gold incisors, answering the query on how this could be creepier. 

“I’d … like to speak to them,” Chuck said, sidling closer to the laptop bag.

“Why do you need them? You’ve got the laptop, geek.”

Chuck twiddled with the tie, wisely deciding the ‘nerd’ correction would be meaningless to this guy. “I have a few questions myself … for the woman.”

“Just get the damn laptop,” he ordered. “I’ll be … taking care of our guests.”

Chuck swallowed. “You may need some help with the big one. Uh, they say he can be surly, or –”

“You … would help me? Heh.” Max of Muscles reached into his jacket and jabbed a gun at him. “Are you deaf, freak? Get out.” As he watched the kid, his forehead wrinkled into a question. “Who are you, anyway?”

“Rolando,” Chuck replied quickly. He had no choice but to back away from the gun. “You know, I can see you’re busy here … doing stuff … so I’m just going to take the laptop and get out.” He forced a smile, doing everything in his power to look like an innocent non-threatening nerd in a rumpled suit. That wasn’t a stretch now, he figured. 

It was obvious Max enjoyed the intimidation, taking his time sliding the gun back into his jacket. “Great idea, girl scout,” he sneered.

Chuck bit down on his lip at the jibe, and reaching for the laptop bag, he unzipped it. It didn’t take a genius or an Intersect to confirm it was Maggie’s laptop. He recognized the model, the scratch on the lid, the small sticker from her university adhered to the front –

“What the –” A gun. More specifically, a snub nose revolver with built-in laser sight, not to mention black rubber grips and a stainless steel muzzle. All rolled up in a menacing-looking package, tucked neatly beneath the laptop in an inner pocket. 

A Gun?

How the ….?

What was Maggie doing with a gun?! And why did it have to be a gun? Sure, Casey had taught him the basics: the stance, his arm placement, basic firearms safety, but he could never use a gun. Never.

But Max FightMaster over there, bulging biceps and an attitude to match, didn’t need to know that little detail, did he?

Chuck slid his hand around the grip, the cold steel sending a shock up his arm. Willing himself not to accidently shoot off something he may need later, he dragged the gun out of the bag.

“What do you have there?” Max asked.

The gun wobbled in his hand, forcing the kid to tighten the grip before he telegraphed that he would never be able to use it. “I said, I want to speak to the lady scientist. This is the way it will work. You’re going to open the door for me, I’m going to talk with her, and then I’m going to leave.” 

Hopefully with them, unless this blew up spectacularly in his face. 

At this juncture, odds were high.

The man’s eyes traveled over him with derision as he appraised the thick glasses, nerd suit, and finally the shaky gun. “You scientists. All of you are bat-shit crazy.” His face cracked into a cold smile, eyeing the gun still pointed at his chest – and laughed. “That’s what you want, cowboy? Okay. I don’t see the harm, so why don’t you lower the gun before I kick your ass.” 

“Open the door,” Chuck replied. Oh, great. Now his voice rattled like a wind chime. 

Max shrugged and pulled out a key ring from inside his jacket. “Can’t wait until you’re done with them. Then I get my turn.”

“F-fine. Open it.”

“Geeks,” Max snorted. He unlocked the door and they stepped inside the small room, holding two people sitting together back to back in chairs. “You have a visitor, Ms. O’Byrne.” 

The kid only vaguely registered the room – a glare of white walls, grey tile floor, no windows. He was too busy staring into Maggie’s startled face. Obviously cuffed to her brother, they had placed her in the chair facing the door, while a person with a very broad back was forced to face the wall. 

“Who are you?” Maggie craned her neck up at him, and shot a disapproving look when she got there. “What do you want?” She blinked at him. “And damn. Is that hair real?”

“Um,” was all Chuck could think of to say to that. He stayed where he was, out of Casey’s line of sight, because it was going to bad enough when he opened his mouth. “I’m one of the scientists who invited you here. I have a few questions for you, Ms. O’Byrne.” 

“Son of a mother ….” He watched as Casey’s head snapped up, the bands of steel in his arm bulging and tightening against the cuffs. The string of colorful curses had the hair on Chuck’s neck standing at attention. “Bar –”

“What?” Maggie angled her head around towards Casey. “What is it?”

“If I turn around,” Casey growled, “and see what I had better not see –”

“I’m only here to –”

“He’s right! You son of a bitch,” Maggie uttered. With a look almost as deadly as her brother’s, she swung her leg out in a vicious side kick would that make any Sensei proud. “Let us go!”

“Holy sh–!” Her heel missed his crotch by just so much. “Hold on! Before you do that again, I should warn you. Your brother will be a very, very angry man if your aim improves on the next swing!” 

“My …?” Maggie cocked her head at him. “What do you mean?”

“Wait a minute.” Max FightMaster, not recruited by Fulcrum for his elegant brainwaves, spun on him, eyes wide. “Do you know her?”

The momentary confusion was enough for Chuck to snatch the keys out of his hand. “Thank you,” he said, sliding them into Casey’s palm. “Uh, I guess this is where I get to say, ‘Unleash the Casey’.”

Max’s brows wrinkled. “Unleash the –?”

That was as far as he got. It took Casey about one nanosecond to unsnap the cuffs. He rose to his feet, his body taut and spring-loaded as a panther, and rounded on the man. 

“Hello,” he said. And in an instant, like a flip of a clay skeet thrower, his elbow crushed the man in the face. “Good-bye.”

“Gooo!” Chuck wheezed, awestruck yet … slightly terrified at the power behind that elbow. 

Casey grunted, toed the unconscious man out the way. “God. I’ve been waiting almost an hour to take care of that asshole.”

“Hold on.” Maggie climbed to her feet, rubbing her wrists. “What is happening?!”

“Well … I should get this over with,” Chuck huffed. He dragged the thick glasses from his nose and pulled the blonde Marilyn wig off his head. “Hi, Maggie.” 

“What ….?”

He smiled tentatively. “I’m Chuck Bartowski, and I’m here to rescue you,” he said, then blinked in wonder. “Wow. I can’t believe I got to say that. Who knew I’d knock one thing off the bucket list today?” 

Casey growled again, one of his two-fold versions. Cut the crap, and you are dead meat for showing up here, cupcake. 

“Chuck?” Maggie shook her head. “What … what are you doing here?”

“Yeah.” Eyes narrowing, Casey snatched the gun out of his hand. “That’s exactly what I want to know. And while you’re at it, where the hell did you get a gun? What have I said about you and guns, Bartowski?”

“Whoa. Hang on, big guy.” Chuck backed up a step, careful to position the chair between them. “Before you hit the on switch and go into hardass mode, it was in the bag.” 

“What bag?” Casey demanded, kicking the chair out of the way.

Chuck hunched his shoulders. “Your … your sister’s bag? With the laptop … Really!” His hands flew up. “When I opened it, a gun fell out!”

Casey pivoted around slowly and lowered his chin, pinning his eyes on his sister. “Care to explain, Mags?”

“What?” Maggie lifted a shoulder, giving them a ‘what’s the big deal’ expression. “Dad always said carry concealed when you’re in the big city. I was just following his advice.” 

“Oh my aching ass. I don’t believe this,” Casey muttered. 

“Tell me about it,” Maggie replied, giving Max a little nudge with her foot. “I can’t believe I let that big lug get the drop on me.”

Casey opened his mouth to comment, but the overhead lighting flickered. The room shuddered, and the entire building seemed to jiggle on what Chuck prayed was a State of California seismically-approved foundation. 

“What’s – oh no.” Chuck tried to keep his voice calm, since he figured he could still be Luke Skywalker in this scenario. “Don’t tell me … Earthquake?”

“My men,” Casey said, checking for ammo before jamming the gun in his pants. “Blasting a hole in the top of this place to get to us.” This, at least, pleased him. “It means someone still might be employed tomorrow, after all.” 

-x-

Castle  
Burbank  
22 December 2009  
20:04 PST 

“Watch your step,” Chuck said, taking hold of Maggie’s arm to steer her down Castle’s stairs. “About a dozen more.”

“What’s going on?” Maggie asked. “And by the way, I’m getting tired of asking questions and not getting any answers. Someone needs to start explaining.” She swung her head around in the direction of Chuck’s voice, her face screwing up in a frown under the blindfold. “First, I was kidnapped inside the conference center, handcuffed to my sometimes-asshole brother who hasn’t said two words, and now his boy wonder is taking me God-knows-where!”

Chuck stifled a groan at yet another label. “Casey’s right here, too,” he told her. “He’s the one attached to your other arm – the one who’s not talking.” Over her head, the kid shot him a pained look. “Say something!” he mouthed. 

“Johnnie?” Maggie pivoted around blindly and clenched his arm. “I can’t wait to hear the explanation for this – ah.” 

“Sorry. I’ve – we’ve got you, Maggie.”

“How many more steps?”

“Just a few,” Chuck answered when it was obvious Casey was still too pissed to speak. “We’re almost there, and then we can take off the blindfold.”

“And then what?” Maggie asked. “What happened today? And more importantly, I want to know why the hell it happened.”

Chuck cocked an eye at Casey. Just the thought of answering those questions and undoubtedly a hundred more had put a look on Casey’s face that could scare children into eating broccoli. Something Chuck silently referred to as The Terminator face. 

“We’re almost at the landing,” Chuck said. “A few more steps. You’ve got it.”

“We’re underground. I can tell.”

“Really? How would you –”

Casey shook his head at him to shut up. Seeing the way a muscle flexed in his jaw, Chuck knew he was fighting the urge to put his fist through one of the monitors after today’s fiasco. He also knew the hardened expression wasn’t meant for Maggie or him. 

Not this time. Instead, it was meant for the thick walls, now crumbling, that separated his job from his family. Maggie, of all people, would be on Fulcrum’s and the US Government’s radar – and there was not a damn thing he could do about it. 

And John Casey, more than anything else, hated the feeling of utter helplessness. 

Chuck bobbed his head a little, surveying the super-secret base – a blender full of cement and gadgetry – and remembered his apprehension yet awe the first time he saw it. The chilly air of the cavernous space fluttered over his skin, sending goose bumps up his arms. Then, with no fanfare, Chuck carefully pulled off the blindfold from her head. 

“Uh, ta da?”

“God, it’s about time,” Maggie said, bringing the heel of her hand up, rubbing her eyes. There was a quiet between them while she scanned the base, dissecting the computer equipment, Casey’s armory stuck under the metal staircase, and the corridor leading to the holding cells. 

“Cozy, huh?” Chuck said, because the silence was making him nervous.

“Cozy?” Maggie folded her arms over her chest, looking up at her younger brother. “Who’s your decorator, Johnnie? Austin Powers?” When she shifted her gaze to Chuck, a sly smile flitted over her lips. “You know, maybe it’s the sequel I’m thinking of … The Spy who Shagged Me?”

“I … I don’t ….ah….” Chuck, by now, had learned to be on his toes around Maggie, but the desperate fight for his modesty gave way to a blush that could power all the electronics in Castle with one surge. 

“Leave the kid out of this, Mags,” Casey demanded, finally tamping down on his anger enough to speak. “You keep talking like that, he babbles, and then I’ve got two fucking messes to clean up.” 

“Sure thing, Goldmember. So … let me get this straight. You’re CIA? NSA?”

“NSA?” Chuck winced. “What do you mean?”

Casey rolled his eyes. “You. Shut it from here on out,” he rumbled to Chuck. “I’ll deal with you. Later.”

“What happened to the whole thing about leaving me out of this?” Chuck asked.

The agent grunted, then leaned in close to the kid’s ear. “After that hero stunt you pulled today? When I ordered you to leave? Heh. Not a chance, spy-boy.”

Chuck flinched and took a micro-step back from him. He shouldn’t have to explain his actions, but the Keeper of the Intersect and his lover wouldn’t quite see it that way. “I think you need to talk to her,” he said, relieved with such a nifty diversion to his own plight. “You can yell at me later.”

“Yell?” Casey turned his back to Maggie, and his index finger traced a path up Chuck’s cheek to his temple. “Won’t be able to sit when I’m done with you,” he said in a low voice.

Chuck’s brows slowly rose while his brain scattered over the ten ways that could be interpreted. It took him a minute to recover, but he pretended to zip his lip and throw the key over his shoulder. 

That got Casey off his back – for now. The larger man was silent for a long moment before slanting a look at his sister. “Maggie, he’s right, though. We need to talk about –”

“I suspected it for years, you know,” Maggie assured him, managing a small smile. “Look at this place. I knew your job wasn’t as simple as a lifetime career in the military.”

Casey straightened abruptly, eyes narrowed. “Nothing simple about that, Mags.”

“Agreed,” she replied. “And we both know that’s not what I meant. My point is this: I figured it out years ago … that your life was more complex than that.” Maggie waved her hand vaguely at the surroundings. “Maybe not like this, but the long, unexplainable months you dropped out of sight? Not a word home to let Ma know you were okay?” She stopped and looked back at him. “Where were you?”

“That’s classified.”

“Exactly. The way you never shared details of your deployments?”

“Ditto. Classified,” Casey said, getting perturbed.

“And even more interesting, you were always a loner,” she went on, ignoring a glare that could melt rock. “Oh, there was one other time – maybe a flash in the pan, Johnnie? But nothing else.” Maggie flicked a glance at Chuck, who was doing his best to stay out of it. “Until last year. What changed … I wonder? I’d like to know.”

“Again, you don’t get a say here. Or get to ask the questions.”

Maggie made a noise that explained a few other hereditary traits. “And I’m betting that this has to be nearly a first for you. Based upon the fact that I know your secret, and I can hear you grinding your teeth down to powder? A failed mission? Am I right, Johnnie?”

Casey considered it as he settled a hip against the table and crossed his arms. “Not a complete failure.”

“What?” Chuck asked, flushing when Casey turned to squint at him. 

“Really? Then explain this to me,” Maggie said, lifting her head. “I heard bits and pieces of the chatter as they bundled us out of there. We were captured, almost killed, your team had to come zipping in through the roof – oh, after they blew a hole through it when something called Fulcrum sealed the building, and that doesn’t’ sound like a failure to you?”

“Sounds like a day at Goddamn Disneyland to me, but hey, not everyone sees things my way.” Casey shrugged. “I talked to Hernández while the two of you were being hustled to the van. After they gathered up the scum, a few scientists and the laptop were missing,” he said, a flutter of smugness replacing the anger only for a second. “We met our objective, so I’d call that part a success.”

“Laptop?” Maggie ran a hand through her hair, frustration evident as she moved in toe to toe with her brother. “My laptop is missing? And this is mission accomplished in your book? Do you have any idea what I had on there?”

Chuck held up a hand. “I can answer that. Oh. Oops.” 

Maggie wheeled around, arched a brow. “Did your boy toy just say oops? In the context of my laptop?” 

“Well, I ….” Chuck sucked in a breath when he caught the look that said Casey was getting ready to stuff a sock down his throat. “Shouldn’t say ….”

“What do you know about this, Chuck?” she asked flatly, moving to block Casey’s path. 

“Um ….” The kid shuddered at the combined looks he was getting.

“Well?” Maggie stood on her tiptoes to get a few inches from his face. Her eyes had the same Casey family aqua blue … which was disconcerting to say the least. “Spill.”

“Kid, see that holding cell –?”

“I … can’t really –”

“Are you a … thief?” Maggie wondered. “What would Mother say to that?”

“No,” Chuck stammered, backing up until he felt the table dig into his thigh. “I’m –”

“Bartowski, you’re out of –”

“Well, what then?” Maggie wrinkled her nose. “A liar?”

“A …? No!” Chuck felt the weight of ugly guilt sitting on him. He swallowed. “Don’t worry! I backed up everything before I loaded the worm.”

“A worm? You did break into to my laptop – you little sneak! When the hell did you do that?”

“It was okay! You were in the shower!”

“Eh.” Casey slapped his hand over his forehead.

“You snuck it out of my bag?! Wait – how did you know the password?”

“Uh, well … I just … have this little program I wrote back when I was in college, and it can pretty much hack into –”

“Oh, hell. That’s it,” Casey muttered, shouldering Maggie out of the way and prowling between them. When he entered the kid’s airspace, Chuck was already pressed against the table to get away from the redheaded she-devil, meaning he had nowhere to squirm to. He stiffened, expecting to be manhandled into one of the holding cells until Casey could establish the new cover. Maybe leave him there for a few days. 

“I’m sorry!” Casey was close, so close, his breath hot on his cheek. Enough to layer his gut with apprehension, low in his belly. Instinctively, Chuck's hand pressed on the slope of Casey’s chest. “But she was … looking at me! Okay, I know that sounds ridiculous, but I didn’t want her to think terrible things. This is about your family and us, too. I didn’t tell her anything about – you know who or about the – oh.”

Before he could complete the thought, there was a touch of a bare hand to the back of his neck, Casey taking hold right over his collar. His hand kept the kid still in a firm grip – not to hurt, but enough to get him to meet his gaze, knowing Chuck had a bashful tendency to look away when Casey stood this close to him, filling the space between them. 

“You,” he said, giving a brush of his thumb against the brown curls at his nape. His voice got throaty. “Not another word.”

“I’m sorry,” Chuck whispered, swallowed against his touch, feeling his fingers rub between his shoulder blades. 

Casey pulled his hand away. When he slowly rounded on Maggie, it was evident to the kid that his boyfriend had departed, and Major John Casey had checked in. “I need to debrief you. There’s a room in the back where we can … talk.”

“Hold on.” Maggie took his shoulder. “I have a strong suspicion you’re going to be spending the next several hours not answering my questions. But I have one you will answer.” The sky at midday had nothing on the piercing blue of her eyes. “Him,” she said, and Chuck jolted when he realized who she meant. “I had a hunch about you, but what’s his role here?”

“Two words and I’m done.” His no-bullshit voice. “Military support.”

“Seriously, Johnnie?” She chuckled, and Chuck wasn’t sure he liked the meaning behind that. “This kid … whoever he is, is not military.”

“He has a desk job.” Casey said. “What part of that do you not get, Mags?”

“Really? Then why was he stuck in the middle of an obviously dangerous operation?” Maggie closed a hand on Chuck’s wrist. “Just in case someone suddenly had a bad piece of code to debug?” 

“This isn’t about him.” Casey said it with professional nonchalance, though his fingers briefly clamped into fists. “His presence here is on a need to know basis. And you sure as hell don’t need to know.”

“Is he part of the job? Whatever is going on between the two of you?” Maggie’s brows pulled together. “Huh. It’s starting to make sense. The way you’re passing this kid off to Ma as someone who’s important to you … because that’s never really happened. So, Johnnie … is he a cover?” 

Stay out of it. Casey can handle his sister. 

Say nothing …. Say noth – 

“Maggie, I’m not military,” Chuck blurted, and he gently but firmly freed his wrist from her hand. “You’re right about that.”

“Bartowski, did I not just say –” 

“And I’m not a spy.” Chuck drew in a breath, reached out until his hand found Casey’s shirt. Ran his knuckles down his middle. “The truth is, I guess you can think of it as being conscripted into service.”

“Son of a bitch,” Casey ground out at the unnecessary revelation, but he didn’t move. 

“John is my … well, he’s a lot of things.” The kid moved closer, his dark brown eyes getting intent as he eased a hand around his waist and held on. “My body guard. My handler. My … partner. It’s the truth – and that’s all we can tell you.”

Maggie turned to face them fully, only a suffocating small space between them. “Is it real?”

Chuck bit his tongue, because she never broke eye contact her brother.

He could feel heat rolling off of Casey’s skin, his back flexing under his touch. “Yes,” Casey replied at last. “It’s real.” 

-x-

“Knock, knock.” Chuck stuck his head in the tiny room and forced a smile, not certain of the protocols when one barged in on a Sensitive Compartmented Information debriefing. “Can I interrupt?”

Casey let out a breath of exasperation. “God, Bartowski. What is it now?”

Well. Someone’s still a bit brittle over today’s mission. “Uh, hello to you, too,” he replied. 

“Is that what I think it is?” Maggie asked, ignoring her brother.

The kid glanced at her, seated on the opposite side of the square table and facing the two-way glass. “If you’re thinking deli sandwiches, you would be correct.” Chuck held up a crammed brown paper bag and a drink caddy. “I bring sustenance.”

“It’s about time someone thought of that.” Maggie took the drinks from him and set them on the table. “This one over here would go hours unless someone stopped him.” She slanted a look of disdain at her brother, and then swapped a smile when she looked up at the kid. “You’re a sweetie, Chuck.”

Chuck hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Was there ever a time he wouldn’t be the sweetie in the Casey family equation? “I didn’t know what you wanted. I hope Turkey and Swiss is okay? I had them put the mayo in a condiment cup … so you could get it the way you liked it.” Chuck pulled out a sandwich and held it out to her. “Plain chips. I hope that’s all right.”

“Perfect. That’s …” She paused in the midst of tearing off the wrapper. “Very thoughtful. Thank you.” 

Maggie could be sincere. Who knew? 

Chuck’s brows lifted, disappearing under a mop of curls. “You’re welcome.” Looking down, he studied Casey’s profile and placed a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Pastrami with muenster and pickles. Extra mustard, no mayo.” He handed off the next sandwich to his boyfriend. “I hope that’s okay?”

Chuck was standing where his thigh nearly touched Casey’s arm, giving him a bird’s eye view as his boyfriend wordlessly unwrapped the sandwich and took the drink. Just great. He’s still pissed as hell at everything. 

“I interrupted, I know, but I thought you’d be hungry by now,” Chuck said, his voice faltering. “I’ll … leave you two alone.” 

Just as he turned to leave, he felt it, light enough miss. Almost. That brush of his hand along the back of his knee, then sliding up to splay his fingers over the small of his back. Casey rested his knuckles on the curve of his ass, sent a trickle of warmth along his spine, and a message. Thank you. 

And maybe I was a big dick head right there. 

Chuck squeezed his shoulder. I get it. He smiled wanly at Maggie, and left the room. 

It wasn’t definitive yet, but as the kid plopped into his seat at the table behind the glass, he warmed up for the first time in hours. There was a chance he would not be sleeping on the floor tonight. 

-x-

For the second time in less than thirty minutes, Chuck’s chin slipped off his hand and nearly slammed onto the table, taking him from nodding off to wide awake. What, was Casey a Cyborg? How could he keep at it for so long?

Debriefing, he meant there. 

Besides taking a small bathroom break after wolfing down the sandwiches, Casey and his sister had been locked in the interrogation room for almost three hours. Chuck could only speculate at the conversation, since Casey had pointed a meaningful look at him, one that warned him not to touch the communication link, and promptly shut it off before closing the door in his face.

So no one thought of giving the Intersect lip-reading abilities? Or other super human skills? 

Huh. He wondered ….

Nah.

Chuck rubbed the kink in his neck. There were other ways to figure it out. With his boyfriend’s back to him the whole night, the kid could peg the physical clues – and he was reaching mastery status of that particular game. Two ropes of tendons at his neck stood out like steel pipes under the skin, the stiff and bunched up tension of muscles making his forearms appear bigger than Chuck’s calves.

Scratch that. Now that he thought about it, they probably were anyway.

Look at him. Always ‘Mr. Roger That, and balls to the wall’. Crap. No matter how much he pestered, he’d never get more than a few vague sentences out of him on this dialogue.

His dark eyes drifted over Casey’s hair, his bare nape, moving to Maggie. She sat across the table, facing the two-way glass, but the woman was hardly an open book. Too much of that Casey-gene had seeped into her at birth, he figured. Sure, there was a moment her face went pale under the fluorescent lights, making the shadows under her eyes look like the night in contrast, but it was no surprise that the same bullheaded glint of his lover’s eyes flittered in hers more than once. The only difference was that she smiled a few times, and certainly Casey had not. 

Mostly, her face reflected a mixture between disbelief and suspicion, but on the other hand, what kind of look would one have? Of all people, he should remember that moment. 

‘Thanks for ruining my perfectly good compartmentalized, mundane life. Now can you please put the gun away and let me get on with it?’

It would never quite work that way again. 

Chuck picked up his take-out drink, took a long noisy slurp since no one could hear him, and that’s when he felt his phone vibrating his pocket. The number was one he didn’t recognize, and after today, paranoia made him want to let it roll to voice mail. But c’mon, he told himself after staring at the screen. How bad could it be?

“Chuck, is that you sweetie?”

“Mother Casey … how – how did you get my number?” Oh. Not the heartfelt greeting she expected.

“Well.” He could hear her voice hedging a little. “I insisted Johnnie program it into my phone. You never know when I may need to get in touch with him and he won’t pick up. Like now?”

Casey did that? Chuck glimpsed at his back and smiled. “That’s … fine, Mother Casey. Really. I didn’t mean for it to sound …. Um, how’s it going?” 

“Johnnie called a few hours ago. He said that he and Maggie arranged for some brother-sister time, since they never get to just catch up between them. Isn’t that sweet?”

“He’s a sweetie,” Chuck said, putting his head on the table at the sound of his own stupidity.

That explained the ‘none of your damn business’ Casey had taken care of when they took a break. For a moment, he was impressed but not surprised that his boyfriend had considered their Mother’s worry since Maggie didn’t show up for dinner. 

The kid lifted his head and peered through the two-way glass. “In fact, they’re, uh, having some quality time as we speak.”

“You’re with them?”

How much trouble could he get into? “Yes. They picked me up after work.”

“Can you pass the phone?” Mother asked. “I want to hear how the conference went.”

Chuck scratched the back of his neck. Dammit. “Well, technically, I’m not with them. Right next to them. We just finished dinner, and they’re sitting at the bar.” 

“So you’re not with them?”

“I decided to give them some time to talk about … things. So I found the video games,” Chuck explained swiftly. “That’s right. They have a few of the … vintage machines here to keep the kids busy while the parents finish dinner.”

Chuck cringed and buried his head in one hand. That did it. If he wasn’t already firmly lodged as the slightly younger goofy boyfriend in the Casey Family Circle of Trust, well, he was now cemented into that position for life. 

“Games? That’s so ….” He could almost feel the degrading pat on his head. He braced himself. “Cute. I’m just glad you found a way to keep yourself busy. Otherwise, the family talk could kill you with boredom.”

“Kill?” Only if Casey still had a stick up his ass over not following orders today. “No … it was fine. You’d be surprised. Casey has a way of keeping things exciting.” Chuck’s mouth fell open a little when he replayed that between his ears. “What I mean is –”

“Listen, sweetie, let’s just leave it at that.” Mother cleared her throat. “Why don’t you let them know I called? Oh, and a tip, son. If Johnnie’s making you wait for them, hit him up for a few more quarters.”

Chuck tilted his head to glare at the back of Casey’s head, if only for the reason that if this conversation somehow got back to him, quarters would begin to appear everywhere just to needle him. 

“Chuck, are you there?”

The kid sighed. “I’m going to hang up so I can get the quarters, Mother Casey.”

“Good boy.”

-x-

Months stuck in the Khyber Pass, picking off chieftains of the Taliban, surviving on water and dried-up naan. One more commendation medal slapped on his chest.

Done.

A stint in the Iraqi desert for so long that sand had worked its way up into places he’d rather not think about. 

Hell, that too. 

But handling Margaret Casey-O’Byrne? That chore made him feel like he had been kicked in the forehead a couple hundred times. By a football team wearing cleats. 

As he ticked off with his fingers the changes that were about to transpire, she hadn’t flinched and barely paled a few times. When it came to her research being requisitioned by the government, however, her hair flamed with anger down to the roots as she argued with him. But that would be non-negotiable. The NSA, it seemed, was interested in her work, and now Fulcrum had zeroed in on it.

Later, when he was less exhausted and not nearly as pissed off, he’d question Beckman on how long they had known his sister was under their Goddamn scrutiny in the first place….

He closed his eyes and scrubbed his chin. Now would not be the time to discuss this with his boss. 

For now, his sister would have a constant CIA tail, as would Danny and Andrew. She’d be asked to present her findings to the NSA analysts. Worse yet, her research would be debunked in a very public way, choreographed by the crack team of government scientists to take Fulcrum off her scent. 

There was one other scenario infinitely scarier. He had a suspicion Beckman may ask Maggie to continue her research in a partnership with the NSA. In secret, of course, and the General would try to hide it even from him. She’d be flattered by the request. He, on the other hand, would throw out every argument he could to talk her out of it. 

One Casey in the NSA was sufficient, thank you very fucking much.

“Johnnie,” Maggie said, turning to look up at him from the doorway. Her hands were loaded down with the empty bags and a cup, now that Casey had told her they could head home and unravel the rest of this Pandora’s box tomorrow. “Before we leave this room, we need to make a pact.”

“What kind of pact?” With Maggie, he knew to be wary until he heard it. 

She nodded towards the door. “When we walk out of here, not a word of this until after Christmas. Not a growl or a grunt either. I mean it. I don’t want Ma to know a damn thing about what happened today, or get any whiff of a conversation – because I swear, she can still hear through walls.” 

“Yeah, tell me about it,” Casey mumbled. Thanks to that, his dick was gonna rust and fall off before it saw any action, since the kid’s skittishness resulted in a Hands Off policy. And God, after today, if there was one thing he needed, it was a good, hard –

“So? Say it, Johnnie. You have to agree.”

Eh. “Fine. Agreed.” He could always tell her later that Beckman forced him to broach the subject if he had to before then. Sneaky, but what the hell. So was she. “Where’s Chuck?” Casey asked.

“Sshh … sshhh.” Maggie nudged him with her elbow. “Be quiet. You’ll wake him,” she whispered.

Casey’s gaze fixed on him. A slow smile crossed his face at the sight, a surprising expression considering the gravity of the day’s events. Chuck.   
A voice from somewhere deep added, All mine. 

Giving in to the battle of weariness, the kid’s head was now resting on his forearms, crossed in front of him on the table, as if holding on to someone. Or dreaming it was the hand of a lover. That floppy hair of his curled over his cheekbone and waved like flapping bird wings in all directions, his face shedding the exhaustion of the day, making him look even younger. 

Casey let out a breath and started to move towards the table, wanting to pass a palm over his hair, look into a pair of sleepy brown eyes. But a hand on his arm stopped him, and when he pivoted around, he was surprised to see Maggie studying the kid keenly.

“What?” Casey asked quietly.

“Chuck.” She inclined her head and gave him a curious once over. “He’s … adorable … gorgeous, really,” she said, her voice soft. “But it’s more than that. His heart is golden.”

Since Casey had nothing to add to that, he kept his mouth shut. 

She squeezed his arm to get him to look down. Lips stiffened. “If you hurt him, mom and I are going to come after you with a rusty knife and a meat mallet up side your thick head. Got that?”

In his defense, he could pull out a million sarcastic remarks from his arsenal. Zing them right back at her without batting an eye.

Jesus … It would be hard to say. The right thing to say for once, but so damn hard. 

His chest tightened. 

“That’s not gonna happen.” Casey nodded, his eyes steady and intent. “Saying this once, Mags. He’s mine, and this is my home now." 

He is.

 

-x-End The Kin Drops In Chapter Six-x-


	7. Chapter Seven

The Kin Drops In

Chapter Seven 

-x-

Casey’s Bedroom  
23 December 2009  
01:05 am PST 

“Hey … sweetie, what … what’re you doing?” Chuck said softly, his voice scratchy with sleep. No answer, unless he could count the weight pressing in to his chest. The kid shifted his head on the pillow, his dark eyes drifting open, and he focused on exactly what he knew he would see. Casey’s face. “I thought you’d be out like a light … after today …?”

Nothing. It was one of the Incredibly Mystifying Rules of Living with John Casey he learned early on. The problem was Casey knew he had been asleep, but in Casey’s world, a parallel universe where certain forms of communication are viewed as dispensable, it was unessential to start a conversation with ‘you awake?’ or even a poke in the ribs. If he wanted Chuck’s attention, he simply ruffled the blankets, levered up on his elbows, and then rolled on top of him. There. At that point, he’d take his sweet-ass time adjusting his limbs along his newly appointed Chuck Mattress, long legs to hips to broad chest. Because in his world, it was his damn prerogative. 

Then Casey would wait. 

Kind of like he was doing right now. 

“Casey?” Chuck attempted to budge his hip, difficult thanks to the very hard something digging into his lower belly. “There’s a problem.”

“Yeah?” Casey answered, lowering his head and ghosting his lips to his ear, nipping the lobe. Once Chuck withheld a groan at the feel of it, Casey curved his large hand around the kid’s ribcage, dragged it up his middle. Warm, smooth. The touch rippled heat through Chuck’s muscles, scraping delicately over his flesh, the hand sliding up to the slope of his neck. “That feel like a problem to you, Bartowski?”

“N-no,” Chuck began, straining to move. “I mean, yes.” He screwed his eyes shut, forcing himself not to look into those pale blue eyes, shining hungry in the dim light. One look, and it’d be over. “For … for a man who lives by rules, this one seems to elude you. But that wasn’t the problem I was referring to.”

“Hm?” 

“I c-can’t breathe, buddy.”

After a moment of looking away almost guiltily, the weight shifted. But instead of climbing from his perch, Casey propped himself up on his elbows, one on either side of Chuck’s head. His hand touched the kid’s jaw, his thumb at the corner of his lips. “Better?”

“Yes, better. Thank you. Why are you awake?” Though the answer prodded his lower belly. Chuck dared to look up in the dark, though he stayed still; only one burn of Casey’s lips, a thick taste, and everything in him, weakening and needing, would take hold. Mother’s dignity be damned. And that could not happen. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he murmured, diverting attention away from the stiff poke. “After today?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Casey said flatly. 

“Sure it does. Don’t – you want to talk about – what are you doing?”

The thumb next to Chuck’s lips brushed back and forth lazily, and then dipped into his mouth. Casey’s eyes went devilish. Dark. “Wanna … suck on that?” His lover’s voice, husky, capable of pulling him over the edge. “Yeah?” 

“Um.” Chuck sunk his head back into the pillow and wriggled a hand up to lay it against his chest. “Not exactly what I had in mind when I said –”

“There?” Bringing up his other hand, strong fingers smoothed his hair back. “C’mon … wanna watch you.” 

God. A hard shiver went through him, as it did every time his boyfriend suggested plainly what he wanted, words raw and primitive. Maybe more than want. Expected. You’ll do it …. 

Did Casey know how hard this was for him?

They couldn’t. Could not.

Chuck’s attention lingered on his eyes – oh, no … don’t make that mistake – before drawing down to the slope of his chest pushed against him. No one could look at that smoothly muscled terrain and not want a deep bite. A suck. 

He was insane. 

With a stab of reluctance, Chuck caught the thumb in his teeth gently. He gave one last playful bite, looped his tongue around the tip, then pushed it back. “Jesus, Casey,” the kid whispered, forcing himself to drop his hand, fist the blanket instead of something else. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“That’d take away some of the fun,” he replied. Reflexively, he shifted, inching his cock up Chuck’s belly. “You’re better … when you can do that little thing with the –”

“Ho – Hold on there, cowboy.” Chuck made a point of tapping Casey’s forehead. “Can you think with this one … just for a minute, please? I want to talk about what you said before that. Think of it as a teachable moment for the emotionally challenged. It doesn’t matter?” He frowned. “I know you may have difficulty processing this, but your feelings do matter.”

“Not now. Focus on this instead, tiger.” At that, he did something he should not have done with his hips. 

“Stop that. What can be more important than trying to get you to –?”

“This.” Warm lips grazed his temple, the slide of his smooth cheek against his skin, while a hand brushed down his thigh. “Can you ... keep quiet for me?” 

“Ah.” If that tongue found the spot under his ear again …. “Slow … slow down a little. I thought you might want to … talk about it? Your sister. The fact that she’s a Fulcrum target now … and – oh, damn you … John, that’s not fair, what you’re d-doing.” 

“Like that, do you?” Being fair was not Casey’s intention, not with the hand he slinked between them, his thumb rubbing slowly … lazy circles … along the ridge of his cock. “Wanna … fuck my hand …?” 

It would be so easy, so good. Just lift his hips into his hot palm, strong sure fingers closing around him, gripping the length with his bare hand. Draw a quiet moan from his rough throat…. 

Moan. 

With Mother Casey in the next room.

“No. No, no, no.” When Casey trailed his fingers along the underside, cupped his balls, Chuck jolted. “That’s … n-not talking. I was trying to say it matters to me … if you’re okay.”

“Ah, fuck.” Casey made a deep growl in his chest and uncurled his fingers, dragging his hand up to dig into Chuck’s hip. Careful to position his face directly over his, he held Chuck’s gaze, continuing to trace his hipbone with his thumb. “I am not having this conversation right now, tough guy.”

“Okay.” Chuck twisted around, freed an arm, and grabbed his iPhone from the nightstand. “There’s a nifty appointment app we can use to schedule this conversation.” He began thumbing the menu. “Does next Wednesday at four fit into your hectic itinerary?”

Casey said nothing for several moments, just eyes stirred with lust boring into him, making him want to squirm. Not that he could. Now that his boyfriend’s long muscular line of bulk had him pinned solidly beneath him. 

“Gimme that damn thing,” Casey finally muttered, and before Chuck could react, he snatched the phone from his hand and tossed it on the floor. “God, I hate it when you come to bed strapped with technology.”

“Strapped? It was on the nightstand. Technically, that is not on my person, which means – ah.” Chuck jerked as Casey’s hand found its comfortable place again, giving him a little tug, and knowing the way his cock liked to be touched, sending a current of fire through him. “God … shit, yes … I mean … that came out wrong.” Chuck closed his eyes. “I mean no. Bad idea. Very bad idea.”

Casey chuckled. Then he bent his head and pressed his lips to the hollow of his throat, coursing up to the curve of his neck to lick. Bit hard enough to work out a gasp. “When you fight it …? I like that. Just … makes me harder.” 

“You’re an asshole,” Chuck managed, his breath shaky. Down to his toes he hoped for a scrap of sanity, right to the minute Casey looped his thumb around the crown, brought his palm down in a nice long stroke. Hot friction against him … and oh hell. No thinking, just that. On instinct, the kid thrust into his hand, a clumsy rhythm since he could barely lift his ass, wedged under him like this. “God,” he huffed. It was still fucking fantastic. Inhibitions sat on the brink, preparing to topple. “Holy … Christ.” 

Just when the kid was sure he’d agree to anything his lover would require, Casey released his hold and drew his knuckles up his bare sternum to the firm curve of his shoulder. He squeezed into his bicep, getting the kid to open his eyes. “Bartowski.” The sly smile looming a few inches above his face ticked Chuck off a bit. “I like it when you come around to my side, goddess,” he said. “But did you forget about Mother in the next room?”

“I ….” Chuck finally had to look away, though his jaw was set stubbornly. “If I could move right now –”

“You’d do what?” Casey smirked down at him. Then, more softly, his finger strayed over Chuck’s flushed jaw in a teasing caress. “God, so easy.” He lowered his head, buried his nose in the slope of his tender neck, then up to nuzzle the curls over his ear. “I bought you an early Christmas present.” Casey’s voice was a bare murmur, curling a response up his spine. “Wanna see it?”

Chuck’s brows lifted under his messy waves. “But I don’t have an early gift to give you.”

“For once, kid, you have a good point,” he said. Casey moved his mouth over his, a mere skim of lips, stealing a soft kiss. Before he eased back, he said against his stubbly cheek, “Lucky for you, my gift has that part covered, too.” 

“Oh?” As much as he was impressed with his boyfriend’s beneficence, the kid felt the pinprick of goose bumps along his arms. “How … versatile?” 

“Versatile. Heh.” Casey sat up to straddle him, powerful thighs holding him to the bed, and ran his hands over Chuck’s biceps. Smiling down at him – and what was that all about? “Yeah, you could say that.” The kid looked to the side, puzzled, as Casey leaned over to his nightstand, opened the drawer, and fished out a brown paper bag. “Picked it up on the way back from the store the other night.”

“I can see they wrapped it nicely, too,” Chuck said, distrust tiptoeing in. “Did they charge you extra for the crumpled bag?” He held out a hand, but instead of passing the sack to him, Casey reached inside to pull something out. Now curiosity mingled with that niggling unease. “Uh, is this the part where you give it to me?” Chuck asked, and then started when he played it back. “Of course, ignoring any lame implications of that remark, or – Holy shi – mmph!” 

“Quiet!” Casey ordered, giving no indication he would move his tightly-packed hand from the kid’s mouth any time soon. “And right there, Bartowski. That’s exactly the reason I bought you damn this gift. You could show a little appreciation, eh?”

“Mmph!” Being pinned under his body like this, Chuck could only breathe his displeasure through his nose and glare up at the agent. “Nmuh-muh!”

“What’s your problem, kid?” 

Chuck shook his head – vehemently, just in case the look of pure terror was not enough to penetrate his stubborn head. 

“I’m going to remove my hand,” Casey warned him, eyes narrowing. “No squealing. Got it? Mother’s trying to sleep.”

When his palm slid off, Chuck sucked in a breath along with his protests, scowling up at the crazy man towering over him. “Not a chance!”

“You got a better idea?”

“Oh, I don’t know, you could start with this,” Chuck answered in a clearly obstinate tone. “Anything besides a … a ball gag! Are you out of your friggin’ mind?!”

“What’s wrong with this?” Casey dangled the strap with the centered rubber ball in front of his eyes. “It’s suede. I know your delicate cheeks can’t handle leather.”

Chuck’s wide eyes traveled down the length of the toy – the buckle, the intimidating-looking strap, the black ball hinged in the middle – and he felt the heat lapping at his face. “Why on earth would you buy me … one of those?”

“Really … Bartowski.” The usual roughness of his voice smoothed out with a dirty chuckle. He leaned in close, brought his mouth down on Chuck’s and kissed him again, slower this time, bringing him in gradually. Then giving the leash a hot little tug, Casey deepened the firm kiss by teasing his tongue over his lips. Open for me. Before Chuck could weakly protest or think, he did. And parting his lips to him, the kiss became open mouthed, possessive. He felt a quiver at every point of contact, Casey’s hand drifting up to a nipple to pinch, a knee settling between his legs and rubbing lightly. 

Oh. Bastard. 

Chuck heard a groan in the pleasure of it. He flushed that it was him. 

“Yeah, right there ….” Casey made a low sound of satisfaction, his lips brushing the underside of his jaw. “I appreciate those filthy little sounds you make … the way you tell me what you want …? But Mother may not see it that way.” His lips grazed along his neck. “Now … put it on.”

“This isn’t … I … we should talk about this.” 

Casey grunted his opinion of that. “That is the last thing we should be doing.” He sat up, his fingers slipping over the buckle and tugging the strap. “Stop your squirming so I can get this on.” 

“No.”

“Open your mouth like that again.”

Chuck squeezed his eyes shut. “Gah! You are the most frustrating man in the world!” 

“Fine. Roll on your stomach and get on your knees, then,” Casey told him. “Easier to get the damn thing on that way.” 

So lack of sex has made his boyfriend a lunatic. Good to know. 

“John?” Reaching out, he put his hand on the side of Casey’s neck, threading his fingers under his hair, massaging his nape lightly. “I’m going to try this one more time,” Chuck said, and he blew out a breath. “No matter what scary ideas are rolling around in that head of yours … I am not letting you put that on me so that you can have wild monkey sex in the bedroom next to your Moth –!” 

“Johnnie?” The rolling of knuckles on the door stopped them cold. “Are you boys still awake?”

Blankets shot up. Arms and long legs scrambled in a dozen awkward directions. The ball gag took flight, making a perfect end over end arc through the air. 

Fortuitous, Chuck thought, that Casey had sprung for the glow in the dark variety, which would make it easy for anyone to discern, circled on the floor like a snake next to his iPhone. Well. Chuck had a strong suspicion that this, right here, would not the brightest moment in Mother’s fond recollections of her son. 

“Ma. Hang on. We’re not decent, so don’t –”

The door popped open, only a few inches. “I know it’s late, so I won’t come in or turn the light on.”

Despite her good intentions, the boys immediately brought up their hands, cupping them over their eyes to block out the high beam light that sliced in from the hallway. “Jesus, Ma. Trying to blind the kid?” Because blinding her son was one thing, but not the sweet little thing he brought home? What the hell, Casey?

“Oh. Sorry, Johnnie.” Her face disappeared from the crack of the doorway as she turned to flick the switch. “Is that better, honey?”

“Eh.” Fucking great, mom was the loose translation there. 

“I hate to … interrupt, but I heard voices and I knew you were still awake.” Mother gave the door a little push and moved inside the room. “Maggie says she has a headache, and Danny looked through the bathroom cabinet for some aspirin –”

“Jesus,” Casey muttered. Even in the dark, Chuck could see his boyfriend pinching the bridge of his nose at that heaped on violation of privacy.

“But he couldn’t find any,” Mother continued. “Do you have aspirin, Johnnie?”

“Um, I … I do,” Chuck stammered. The only useful outcome of being the Human Intersect – well, besides the database of Intel to thwart evil-doers intent on instigating an apocalypse – was that the kid had learned early on to keep a stash of aspirin on hand for post-flash migraines. “I know where it is.”

“Oh, really, Chuck?” Mother squinted, making the kid silently pray her eyes had not adjusted to the dark. Or anything that would glow. “I hate to bother you, but could you run and get it?”

“Sure.” He sat up quickly, holding the blanket securely around his middle. “I’ll just … well … I can ….”

“Ma,” Casey broke in, scrubbing a hand over his face. “What the kid is trying to say is that he’s bare-ass naked under that blanket, and unless you step out into the hallway, you’re about to get an eyeful of long legs and a scrawny ass. Among other things you might not want to see. That sum it up, cupcake?”

“Well, I ….” Chuck affected an innocent look, which became forced when Casey’s hand slipped under the blanket and closed in a flirtatious squeeze on his ass. “Oh. I think, uh –”

Mother winked. “I get it, sweetie. I’ll be out in the hall.”

The moment she closed the door, Chuck buried his head in his hands. “Oh my God Oh my God –”

“Save it, Bartowski.” One more squeeze and a dirty quick kiss shut him up. “Get out there before she comes barreling in again.” Casey raised a brow as a mischievous grin crossed his face. “I don’t think she noticed your present that time. Don’t wanna take any chances.”

“Did you just say, don’t want to take any chances?” Chuck turned, gaping at him. “Now you think of that?!” 

Casey gave him an elbow to the ribs. “Move it.” 

Because he didn’t have a choice in the matter, Chuck raked him over with the stink eye before climbing out of bed. “You know something? I’ve come to the conclusion your family is more dysfunctional than mine,” he noted. “And I want you to think about that really hard.” 

“Speaking of …?” Casey swept a downward glance at Chuck’s lanky form, obviously amused with the view of his lover struggling to find bottoms. “Got some more advice for you, stud,” he said mildly. “You might want to grab a robe instead of those flimsy boxers. Mother may think you’ve gone the ‘carrying concealed’ route like Mags, eh?” 

“Carrying con – oh.” The kid snuck a peak down and cringed. “Oh, crap. This is all your fault.” 

Casey reclined against a pillow, threaded his fingers behind his head and let out a low whistle. “Though I do like your enthusiasm for the gift, kid.”

“You know, John, you really have an evil streak,” Chuck remarked, shimmying the boxers down his legs and nearly stumbling before giving them a kick. Looking away, he folded his arms over his chest self-consciously, though that move failed to cover the full erection he was sporting. “Would it be too much to ask for a robe?”

“In the closet.”

With his long wiry body bare in all ways, he hurried to the closet and grabbed the robe from a hook. Tying it off, he shifted his gaze to Casey, his muscular body sprawled in a tangle of blankets, the corner of his lips twisted into a smile – God, look at him – and remembered the damn aspirin.

“One more thing, Major.” Chuck, with a hand on the knob, let his brown eyes course over his cocky lover one more time. “Perhaps it wouldn’t be too much trouble for me to ask … but can you pick up your toys by the time I get back?”

-x-

Casey’s Apartment  
24 December 2009  
8:15 am PST 

“Hey, Sarah.” The kid spoke quietly into his phone, and closed the door behind him. “Sorry I didn’t answer your call the first time. I was … kinda tied up.”

“Is that so?” Sarah chuckled at the thought. “Boy, he really did take the horizontal confinement suggestion to heart, didn’t he?”

“Hah. Funny. Glad the Intersect is around to humor the two government agents between missions. I meant we had to pull a double shift yesterday for the Christmas rush.” The kid’s voice lowered. “How’s your dad? Is everything okay?”

“The surgery went fine. There were a few more blockages, but … are you okay?”

“Wh-why?”

“Your voice sounds … muffled, like you’re in a – wait. I was only kidding about the velvet-padded cell and twenty-four hour lock down.” Her tone was purposely light, but a hint of worry resonated. “He doesn’t have you … well, trapped somewhere, does he?”

“Seriously, Sarah?” Chuck rubbed his forehead. “If I were chained up naked in his secret dungeon, do you really think he’d let me call you of all people?”

Sarah snickered. “Your boyfriend’s been known to … take some risks ... out in the open.”

He liked to think he knew Sarah fairly well by now. That woman could put on an air of mystery when she set her mind to it, and at the moment, her voice lilted, and something cool slid under his skin, because there was a motive at work here.

“Casey? What … are you getting at? Because correct me if I’m wrong, Ms. Super-Spy, but I think I hear a note of humor in your – oh, hell.” Chuck froze in the midst of picking at some lint on one of Casey’s suit coats, words getting lodged in his throat. “You … have … is there –”

“The roof of the Buy More, courtesy of a Jeffster cam?” Sarah asked. “Don’t worry, Chuck. I confiscated the evidence.”

“What –” Chuck felt his stomach clench. “How – how in the –” 

“It’s a matter of national security, of course. I couldn’t leave an unsanctioned video containing secretive footage of a high level security asset and an undercover NSA agent just lying around for the public to view, could I?”

Chuck winced. Part of that was due to Casey’s reaction if he even got a whiff of this. “What did you do with it?”

“It’s confiscated.” Chuck heard a pause filled with a feminine-sounding throat clearing. “What about you, though … if you’re not chained to a bed, where are you?”

“I see what you did there, so don’t think I didn’t notice the little ‘change the subject’ maneuver,” Chuck mumbled, glaring straight ahead at a row of G man suits. “We are going to talk about this when you get back.” He threw up his hand, resigned that he would get nowhere for now. “I’m … in Casey’s … closet.”

“I … see. And why is that?” 

“Well, it’s like this,” Chuck answered, and he shifted uncomfortably against a shelf that dug into his back. “It seems … the Caseys decided to drop in for the holidays.”

“The Caseys … are in Burbank? Holy … ouch.” Sarah sounded caught between disbelief and glee. “Wait a minute, I get why Casey never mentioned it, but why didn’t you tell me they were visiting?”

“That would be rather difficult to do, since neither of us knew about said visit until they showed up on the doorstep – while Casey was on a mission, I might add.”

“Hold on. A mission?” 

“We have some catching up to do when you get back.” Chuck smothered down the urge to flip back to the memory card debate, and vaguely slanted a look to the side. “Huh. I did not know that ….”

“Know what?”

“Casey irons his jeans and hangs them up on wooden hangers. The nice kind with the little clips on top?” The kid pulled a pair out to get a closer examination. “They look better than my dress slacks.”

“You know what, Chuck? If I were there right now, this is the part where I pin you down to the floor and sit on you until I hear you scream uncle.”

“Got it. The mission. Where was I?”

Sarah made a frustrated noise. “Screw the mission. Obviously, both of you are fine and that can wait. I want to hear about the Caseys. Are they staying with you? Or at Casey’s place, I mean.” 

Oh, hell. Did he have to be reminded that their relationship was just as confusing to her? “Yes, we’re all staying here,” Chuck admitted. His eyes settled on a crisp navy blue dress shirt Casey had worn to a dinner at the Royal Embassy of Saudi Arabia the week before. Without thinking, he brushed a hand over one of the sleeves, his eyes nearly shut, and he inhaled the scent …. Nice. Dry-cleaned clothing, mixed with the spice of his aftershave, just a light touch that became part of his masculine scent. He could identify him anywhere, even blind and alone .... 

“Are you there?”

Chuck straightened abruptly, nearly knocking a stack of shoe boxes to the floor. “Uh, yes. I’m still here,” he said. “The connection isn’t so great in the closet, though.”

“So, you’re staying with Casey, too?” Sarah asked, proceeding with caution. 

“Well, in their eyes, Casey and I are practically married, you know.”

“Chuck, listen to me. No matter what happens this week, or how crazy it may seem – the cover, his family, your sister?” She paused, the way she did when her words would be chosen carefully. “Just remember, he’s the unruly stubborn bastard that has fallen in love with you.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that word,” Chuck pointed out, a tentative smile in his eyes. 

“Bastard?”

“No. He already knows that. I was referring to the four letter one,” he explained. “That’s much scarier to him.”

Sarah digested that silently for a drawn out minute, making Chuck wonder if they really had been disconnected. “News for you, Chuck,” she said. “He already knows that, too.”

“Sarah, if that were –”

“Where’s my sweet boy?” Mother’s voice, accompanied by footsteps outside the bedroom door. “Are you in there, Chuck?” 

“Oh. Oh, no.” Chuck snapped to attention, edged away from the closet door. “Not now, not now….”

“Chuck? Either Casey has changed his techniques of enticement – or … is that his Mother?” Sarah was trying hard not to laugh, but apparently, keeping a straight face under these circumstances was not part of her spy training. “Oh, God. Is that what she calls you – her sweet boy?!” 

“Sa-rah … please.” He wanted to tell her to go screw herself. Really he did. The problem was, she’d never hear it over her own laughter. “Can you forget you ever heard those words? And while we’re at it … can I get that memory card?”

Sarah snorted, rather inelegant for a beautiful girl. Yeah, right. 

-x-

Casey’s Apartment  
Back in the bedroom  
24 December 2009  
6:34 pm PST 

A billow of steam trailed behind him, making Chuck shiver as he stepped out of the bathroom, fresh from his hot shower. The prospect of the family dinner had his stomach coiling with nerves. Or a flock of psychotic iron-winged butterflies. Breathing out, he closed his eyes and shook his head to unplaster the wet curls from his forehead, droplets flying. 

Casey once told him that move reminded him of a puppy getting out of a bath. Casey was also a big fricking tease, and that was meant to ruffle him. It did. The kid felt his skin flush at the memory of that morning, since his lover had then pulled him down to the body-heated covers of the bed, hauling him across his thighs and holding him down. Simply unraveled the towel he had slung low on his hips. Water trickled over them, damp and still warm from the shower, but neither seemed to mind. 

“Have a nice shower, Bartowski?”

“Ah.” The pleasant memory evaporated like the flume of steam. The kid’s eyes sprung open to the sight of his boyfriend seated on the edge of the bed, apparently waiting for him to notice his presence. How long had he been sitting there? “Hey … hi, Casey.” 

Casey, still wearing the blue t-shirt and jeans he had changed into to take Mother to the store, kicked off one shoe, then the other. “You didn’t answer,” he was reminded. 

“I guess …. I didn’t hear you come in,” Chuck said, avoiding the look he was getting. “So did Mother find the bottle of wine she wants to bring to Ellie’s? Though I hope you told her that’s not necessary. Ellie likes to … control the entire dinner-making process, and that includes –”

“You always lock the door when you take a shower by yourself?”

Oh, boy. Message loud and clear. That would probably explain the annoyance on his face, and the clear lack of desire to engage in small talk. 

“I … didn’t … realize that ….” Chuck began, stopping to wet his lips. The kid’s first reflex was to tighten the towel draped low, but he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing him flustered by the scrutiny. Damn him. So swallowing down the duck and cover routine, he straightened, leaving his rangy body only half-covered. “Do you see what you just did there? Busted, Major.” 

“I’m busted?” Casey repeated, bending down to roll off his socks.

Chuck arched a brow and glanced towards the bathroom. “Why else would you try the door if you heard me in the shower? Hm?” He smiled and turned to the dresser, pawing through a drawer. “Boy, I’ve underestimated your tenacity. We’ve already established that your family knows no boundaries, big guy. That means the shower, too, since oh by the way, I hardly doubt a locked bathroom door would stop Maggie if she needs a –”

“How about this,” Casey growled, rising from the bed and already occupied with peeling off his t-shirt. “Why don’t we block the bathroom door using the usual method? Leaving the clothes you just shucked off stuffed behind the door so no one can open the damn thing –” 

Chuck hesitated just for a second, tilting his head in curiosity – before beaming a grin at him. “God, you are good. Your contingency plan, I assume? Pretending to be irked with my … endearing qualities in hopes of some quick make-up sex. Gotta hand it to you, Casey. You are more cunning than I previously imagined … which – and don’t be offended, sweetie – was quite a bit to start with.”

“Smart ass.” Casey bit back a sly smile, saving face by tossing his shirt to the side. And just like that, Chuck was acutely aware of the lazy track his boyfriend’s gaze took, dragging up his bare chest, over the water still running in trickles off his shoulders, dribbling down his ribcage. Contemplating his nakedness, how easy it would be. With his eyes locked to him, Casey took his time strolling in, bringing his body close. Heat flared. “My house. My shower. What’s in it … is mine.”

“Wow. And a minute ago, I called Ellie a control freak.” But God help him, the view coming in was almost enough to forgive some possessiveness. With the t-shirt removed, Chuck wanted to reach out and touch just as badly, rub his hand against his chest, feel the tickle of the finest layer of chest hair over his pecs, narrowing as it led down to his navel. “Besides,” he heard himself say, needing to fill the air before he agreed to another, more crowded shower, “I don’t live here, remember? So technically, you don’t own me. Borrowed, maybe, but –”

His brain stopped him. Chuck bit down on his lips and let his eyes lower to his bare feet. Great. Way to ruin Christmas Eve. Wasn’t there enough tension heading off to dinner with both of their families?

“Casey, I’m … sorry. That came out all wrong.” The kid lifted his head and gave him a shy half-smile. “I didn’t mean anything by that, okay? I was just –” 

“Shut it.” When Casey’s hand slid around his waist, the apology fizzled to a halt. Chuck stilled under the touch, feeling his fingers trail along his bare flesh, still damp and heated, then running his palm over his ass. Jesus, he wanted to feel it there, without the towel. Temptation moved, brushing up to the sensitive skin of his ribcage. “Listen, kid.” Casey said it hoarsely, drawing a strong hand over his cheek, cupping his jaw. “You know I’m not –”

“Boys?” 

Hell. Not even a damn knock this time. 

The men jolted, including the one trained not to do so under any dire circumstances. “Ma, how many times do I have to –”

“I didn’t open it! I knocked first.”

Chuck’s brows crinkled. “She does have a point, Casey.” That was as far as he got before the door swung open. “Oh, no.” Suddenly aware of standing half-naked in front of Mother, Chuck dodged around the largest cover he could find. Only then could the kid be grateful he had picked out a lover with shoulders as broad as a grizzly bear’s. Those physical characteristics, among others, came in handy at times.

“Oh, good,” Mother said in a pragmatic voice, her eyes sweeping over her son’s bare chest. “Perfect timing. I was hoping I’d catch you before you got dressed. Here.” She placed a package on the bed, one wrapped in gold and red paper, topped with a green bow. “An early Christmas present for you. Now hustle on down for the picture in front of the tree, eh?” Giving the package a light smack, she winked and was gone. 

The moment the door snapped shut, Chuck dropped his chin to rest on a muscly shoulder. “I … like your Mother, buddy, I do, really, so don’t take this the wrong way … but your family’s eating at the crazy trough. You know that, right?" 

“Nothing wrong with them that a good lock won’t solve, Bartowski.” Casey lifted a shoulder to jostle his chin. “And if you tell Walker any of this? Starting the first of the New Year, I’ll suggest to Beckman that I need to start getting the Intersect in shape. Two-a-days.”

“Starting when?” Still resting his chin on the bulky shoulder, Chuck indulged himself with a love bite, satisfied when he heard his boyfriend take a sharp breath, a hitch of surprise tangled with need. “Because I thought you were already taking me through those?”

“Get your mind out of the gutter.” Amazing that he could say that with a straight face. “Though, yeah, you would be sweating and breathing hard, just not on your back, kid,” Casey informed him, and slipped a few fingers into the fold of the towel to pull him closer. “No Walker, got that?”

Chuck made the motion to lock his mouth with a key. “Fine. I won’t tell her your family can appear from nowhere like reptilian poltergeists.” 

Casey eyed him, dragged a hand over his bare middle, swishing up and down a few times. “On second thought, maybe we do need to –”

“Why don’t you open your gift?” Swiftly moving off the topic, Chuck nodded towards the package. “Oh, and no matter what it is, you have to tell her you like it.”

Casey’s shrewd blue eyes shifted to the festively wrapped box. After a few wary moments, he walked to the bed and picked it up. Then he gave it a little shake. 

“Shit,” he said under his breath. Obviously familiar with the routine, Casey began tearing into the package the way a person would peel back the skin of a venomous snake. “Why does she do this?” 

“Do what?” Chuck plopped down on the bed to watch the unveiling, barely remembering to adjust the rucked-up towel. “It’s a gift from your mother. How bad – can it – Oh. Son of a ….” 

“Bitch.” Casey set it down to rub the back of his neck.

Chuck’s hand flew up to cover his mouth, but it was too late. The coughing fit – well, to be truthful, laughter – erupted. It took a long time to pull his eyes away from the gift, attempting to compose himself. “Mother ….” Chuck said, keeping his features schooled. “She … really outdid herself this year, didn’t she, John?” 

The piercing look Casey pointed at him should’ve sent the towel up in flames.

Because the lure was too great, though he may regret it, the kid then shot him his sunniest smile. “You better put it on. Don’t want to disappoint Mother.”

Casey responded somewhere between a groan and a feral growl of warning. He held up the emerald green sweater by the shoulders, inspected the design, and tossed it down on the bed. “Are those –?”

“Tiny woodland animals? Uh-huh. Looks like Mother got the size right, too,” Chuck added helpfully, his grin broadening. “Hey …. Are they holding hands around a pine tree? Wait, I mean paws, since technically they are bunnies and raccoons.” When it was obvious Casey wouldn’t grace that with an answer, the kid went on, his smile dialing in to blinding wattage. “Indeed, they are holding … paws around a tree.”

Casey stared. Finally, he let out a string of curses under his breath that would make a pirate, a truck driver, and a drunk sailor redden all at once. Impressive, since he didn’t move his lips, the kid supposed. 

“All righty then.” Chuck put his hands up, palms flat. “I think someone needs an attitude adjustment before we go downstairs.”

“Eh,” Casey argued, telling him his fucking attitude wasn’t changing anytime soon.

“C’mon, Casey. You can’t disappoint her.”

Casey looked down at the box, and strangely, the pissed off look faded into something unreadable. “That so, Bartowski?” He reached into the box, past the sheets of crinkled tissue paper – and pulled out a second sweater. It looked to be an exact match, though it was the slightly smaller companion to the one his boyfriend had just opened. “Looks like Mother remembered you this year. Got your size right, too. Who knew it came in skinny nerd?”

Chuck’s mouth fell open, his wide eyes scanning the matching green knit sweater Casey held in front of his face. “Oh, no. No, no, no. Not happening. I’m not wearing that.”

Casey gave him a narrow look. “Don’t want to disappoint Mother, do you?”

“You know, about that,” Chuck faltered, cautiously scooting away. “I’m willing to make a sacrifice here.”

“Yeah? Like what?” Casey insisted, and Chuck did not appreciate the way his fist tightened around the sweater. 

“I’m … willing to be the slightly younger, oddly charming yet quirky boy toy that doesn’t quite fit in with the Casey family traditions.” He used some of that charm to flash another smile and those pleading brown eyes of his. “See? Problem solved.”

“Really.” Casey leaned in, his eyes level with Chuck’s frozen features. “You think that’s a plan. Since you evaded last year’s, you could do the same this year?” Meaning, hell no, you’re not. 

Thanks to the barely-there towel at his waist, Chuck couldn’t quite spring up, so he shifted uncomfortably to the side. “Well, I … I wasn’t … but don’t you think –”

“Well, merry fucking Christmas,” Casey said, crossing his arms over his bare chest. “Now put it on.”

Chuck bristled and sat up taller, despite the skimpy towel. “I can’t! You cannot expect me to wear that. My sister is going to laugh! And what if Morgan hears about this? Do you want him –” 

“I’ll deal with the bearded troll later,” Casey cut in. “Get that damn sweater on.” 

“Wait a minute.” Chuck wasn’t certain where this bravery was coming from, but he lifted his face and glared. “Boyfriend or not, you can’t just demand that –” 

“Heh.” Casey shook his head at that little error in judgment, obviously taking his insolence as a challenge. “See the bed, Bartowski?” 

Chuck scooted a few inches away. “Y-yes. What does that have to with –”

“In five seconds,” Casey said in his no bullshit voice, “I will be holding you down and putting it on for you.” He paused to let Chuck toss around the visual in his mind. “That’s what you want, cupcake?”

Automatically, Chuck clamped his hand over the knot holding the towel. “You w-wouldn’t.” 

Casey grunted, sounding intrigued by the dare. 

Chuck gave a fleeting look towards the door, but a strong hand slid over the back of his neck in anticipation of a move. “Don’t even think about it, sport.”

The kid swallowed at the touch. “You know something, Casey? You have a real sadistic streak that comes out when you’re with your family.” He tried not to look at the hand-holding bunnies Casey held in front of his face. “Not your normal sadistic streak, because that’s one I’ve learned to deal with. This one – ow. Okay. Yes, shutting up.”

Casey stayed quiet for such a long minute that Chuck’s belly started to jump with nerves. Then he held up a hand in front of the kid’s startled face, and began ticking off his fingers. “Five … four ….”

Chuck stayed where he was, holding his breath, staring up at him. Defiant. “Hold on. Is that supposed to be intimidating? Because, uh, sweetie, I know you won’t –”

“Three.”

A nervous laugh covered up the sound of something like a ‘Two’.

He wouldn’t.

Would he?

Chuck looked up. You know, he wasn’t messing around.

Oh … hell.

And that was the last bit of resilience before the kid quickly pulled the emerald knit sweater over his head. 

“You owe me for this,” he mumbled, sullen, as he smoothed it over his chest. “This was not part of the boyfriend package I signed up f –”

“Hey, guys. Can I come in?”

The men turned towards the door. Since it didn’t immediately pop open, they eliminated the possibility that is was one of the female Caseys. “Yeah. We’re decent,” Casey replied, then smirked at Chuck’s sweater and added, “If you don’t count that.”

“Laugh it up.” When Chuck gave a know-it-all glance to the larger sweater lying on the bed, Casey’s smile withered to a black look. “Buy More Green is your hue, isn’t it? It’s kind of replacing assassin-black on your color wheel of clothing choices.”

Before Casey could respond, Dan poked his head in, turning beet red when both guys cringed at the matching sweater he wore. “Yeah. Tell me about it,” he deadpanned. “Twenty years of marriage. Twenty Christmas sweaters. See what you have to look forward to, kid? Anyway, a message from Mother: she says ‘get your butts down there for pictures by the tree so that we can get over there and meet Chuck’s family’. Unquote.” Dan nodded at Chuck’s towel just before he pulled the door closed. “Might want to grab some pants, kid.”

Dumbstruck, Chuck stared at the door long after he had left. After a minute, he slanted a look at his boyfriend, begrudgingly tugging his version of Satan’s joke over his head. “Seriously. You’re going along with this.”

“You heard him. Move it.”

Giving up the fight, the kid pulled on his boxers and a pair of jeans. “As if anyone would notice I’m not wearing pants when they see us?” he ventured, grumbling.

Casey was in the midst of adjusting a too-short sleeve, but he looked over and rolled his eyes. “Spend nine months undercover in a black dishdasha and smagh in a hundred degree heat, and then come and bitch to me.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“And you don’t want to.”

“Well, next year, John,” Chuck said, raking his hand through his hair, “we’re planning a destination Christmas.” 

Next year? Shit. Immediately, he tensed at how presumptuous that sounded to a man who had never shared his dreams, his plans. Chuck hunched his shoulders and looked away, beginning to turn towards the dresser.

“C’mere,” Casey said, stopping him. “Got something for you.”

“Uh, my socks?” Chuck asked, his dark chocolate brown eyes studying him, wondering why he saw a shadow of a smile.

“No. Something else.” Casey hooked a finger in one of Chuck’s belt loops, hauled him in close, near enough to take a hand to his waist, pressing the front of his thigh against his. In answer to Chuck’s quizzical look, he leaned in and simply seized his mouth in a kiss, taking control, trapping his tongue beneath his, smoothly, slowly. Eyes closed, lost in the rough press of lips, Chuck inhaled at the push of Casey’s thigh between his legs. His lover purposefully backed him up against the side of the bed, making Chuck feel the steel length of his body. At that, the kid’s world shifted dizzyingly.

“Bartowski?”

“Y-yes?” Chuck curled his fingers around his boyfriend’s upper arms, anchoring himself to the sturdiest thing in the room, feeling the roll and shift of muscles under his hand, hard as a rock. “Not that I’m complaining, but what was that?”

“So you’ll pull your head out. Time to get this over with.” Casey stroked a hand through the kid’s hair and shrugged, blue eyes lit with a different kind of mission. “Let’s go face the big sisters.”

-x-End The Kin Drops In Chapter Seven-x-


	8. Chapter Eight

The Kin Drops In

Chapter Eight (Part One) 

-x-

Casa Awesome  
24 December 2009  
7:05 pm PST 

When Chuck found himself herded over the Awesome family threshold, it occurred to him that a new mathematical formula was born. Nothing so bland as Kummer’s Function or the ho-hum factor of Chebyshev Polynomials. Of course not. What was the fun in that? 

No. This shiny-born theory rationalized the magnification of luminous grins of non-matching sweater wearers to those forced to succumb to matching sweaters. The ratio was about ten thousand to one, if Ellie and Devon’s broad smiles could be used as a benchmark. 

Which they could.

Chuck cringed, immediately trying to put some distance between himself and the kin, figuring that much emerald green in one spot could blur vision and potentially cause impotence. He still had hopes of being an uncle someday, after all. 

“Oh … my.” Ellie startled, one hand jumping up to rest below her throat, but she beamed and took his arm. “No, you don’t little brother. Stay,” she ordered. “Quick, Devon. The camera! Line up by the tree, Caseys.” 

“Hell ….” came the grumble from the impossibly stubborn man next to him, crossing his arms over his sweater and making the tiny hand-holding woodland animals bunch up on his chest. “Not happening.” 

“Don’t even think about it, John,” Chuck said out the side of his mouth, assisting with an elbow to the ribs. “If I have to pose with this, then you’re going down with me.”

Casey turned and arched a brow. The lewd smile was confusing for only a heartbeat. 

“Sheesh. Seriously?” Chuck rolled his eyes, keeping his voice at a whisper. “I said ‘with’, Casey. Not ‘on’. God, you are incorrigible. Go introduce your sister –”

“I’m Maggie.” She gave her brother a pointed look. “Since Sherm won’t do the honors of introductions?” 

“Sherm,” Ellie repeated, shaking Maggie’s extended hand. “Cute. I already learned more than I knew about Chuck’s … boyfriend. Who would’ve guessed John Casey had an endearing childhood nickname that stuck? You know, I can’t wait to find out what else –”

“El?” Chuck flashed a tight smile as he scooted up next to her. “Did you know Maggie is a doctor, too? Wow.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. “You have so many things in common already to talk about. That’s going to be enough to keep you two chattering like –”

“And you must be?” Ellie smiled, turning to Mother.

“You can call me Ida,” Mother replied, and she placed a hand on her grandson’s shoulder. “This handsome guy is Andrew, and this other good-looking man is my son-in-law, Dan.” 

“We think your little brother is adorable, by the way.” Maggie waved a hand in Chuck’s direction, while she tried to nonchalantly scan the room. “And he’s certainly the only man who could charm the pants off our Johnnie. Who else would’ve made him want to settle down, here in Burbank?” 

“Settle down? I … see.” Ellie’s brows wrinkled and her lip tilted in a curious smile. “Interesting. I didn’t realize that Chuck … or Casey for that matter … were ready to –”

“What my daughter is trying to say,” and Mother gave Maggie the shush look, “is that your brother is a sweet boy, and we love having him as part of our family now.”

“Part of the – I didn’t …. Mm-hm.” Ellie cleared her throat, slanting a look at her brother. “Chuck, can you help me with the wine glasses. In the kitchen?” As in right now. 

Chuck drew in a steadying breath. “You know, sis, I should probably help Casey with the gifts we brought –”

“Casey needs help? Lifting?” Ellie glanced at Casey and gave the kid her ‘are you kidding me?’ look. “Chuck, no offense, but I don’t think your boyfriend needs your muscle to handle those two boxes.” She reached out and took him by the elbow, whispering, “Move it, buster.”

It occurred to him his sister was much stronger than she looked. “We’ll be right back,” he said quickly. “After I help Ellie with, uh, something … in the kitchen.” Chuck tensed, letting himself get led around the corner. What had happened right there? Two freaking sentences out of Maggie’s mouth, and they were already in trouble! 

“Follow me,” Ellie said.

“Sis, what’s up? Because I know you’re –”

“Shh. Not yet.” Ellie ducked to the side, carefully turning him so that they would be out of the Caseys’ line of sight. Confusion fluttered over her face, with something that looked like excitement riding on its heels. “Did they say ‘settling down’?” she asked, looking over his shoulder. “And that they consider you part of the family?”

“El, I know it sounded like that, but I think what she meant –”

“Chuck, what is going on? I thought that you were – well, don’t take this the wrong way, sweetie – trying to get Casey to take the next step. Did he say something? Are you guys making this … official?”

“Calm down, sis.” The kid’s hands flew up, palms flat. She looked so happy, making him hate to drive a torpedo of doubt through it. But he had no choice. “Really, it’s nothing – maybe they –” 

“And I can’t believe that if Casey did decide to move things along – that you didn’t tell me?! Why would Casey’s family know, and not me? Your big sister?” She punched his arm. “Casey never talks! You can’t shut up! I should’ve been the first person to know!”

“Know … what now? What are you –”

“That the two of you are making this … permanent!” She flung her arms around him. “I’m so happy for you!” 

Oh God oh God … Casey cannot hear this. 

A feeling of hurt shifted in his chest, reminding him that the grey fog of their relationship was reality, no matter how badly Ellie wanted other things for him. He managed a smile and put his hands on her shoulders, pulling her attention away from mythical wedding rings, or registering for decent cookware. 

“Sis. Listen to me. I know you think you heard something that –”

“Babe.” Devon poked his head around the corner, and Chuck had to marvel at the fact that his smooth brother-in-law looked uncomfortable. “Sorry to interrupt, but, uh, I can’t seem to find the corkscrew.” With a quick look over his shoulder, he then mouthed, “Need you out here. You left me with a roomful of Caseys. Not awesome.”

“Devon.” Ellie smiled through gritted teeth. “I’m sure you can find something to –”

“Ellie, can I help with the glasses?” Casey asked politely, edging in next to Devon. 

Really, Casey? It took him a full minute to execute the rescue op? Would it be so hard to give this situation the same urgency as a passel of damn Fulcrum agents pinning down the Intersect?! 

Ellie narrowed her eyes at them, knowing she couldn’t finish this with Casey in the room. She turned to the kid and let go of his arm. “We’ll talk. Later.” With one more look, Ellie strolled to the drawer that held the corkscrew and nodded towards the living room. “Okay, let’s go find out more about the Caseys, shall we?”

Now alone with his boyfriend in the kitchen, and feeling the walls inching in, Chuck shifted his gaze to Casey. He hoped for moral support, a pep talk, hell anything. 

“Oh, Mother cracker,” Casey muttered under his breath, leaning in with his lips to Chuck’s ear. “We gotta get the fuck out of here.”

Okay, then. Maybe not a pep talk. Apparently, the mighty John Casey does have limits, family meet and greets being the super agent’s Achilles heel. Good to know.

“Get out? As in escape? Seriously, how do you propose we do that, John?” Chuck lifted his head, loosening the collar of his sweater. “Our sisters? Your mother? They’ll never let us go!”

Casey said something between his teeth that sounded a lot like unholy words to use on Christmas Eve, but he seemed resigned to the fact that the kid was dead right on that one. 

“Your Mother will hear you, by the way. Remember? Ears of a bat.” Chuck rested his hand in the crook of Casey’s elbow and gave him a little shake. “Now, smile. We have to look relaxed.”

“I am relaxed.”

“Is that so? Well, sweetie, your jaw is doing that twitchy-thing, and you’re going to crack my hand like a nut between your bicep and elbow if you tighten it anymore.”

Casey growled, but he did manage to loosen his arm a little bit.

“Ow. Thank you. And think of it this way, John.”

“What?”

“The sleuthing, the knock-out punches, the … shooting, and … other things I don’t want giving me nightmares? That’s all you.” 

Casey nodded. “So?”

“But the small talk, the meaningless conversations that burn minutes off the clock, well, that’s all me. I can get us through this, okay?” A crooked smile lit his face, and the kid leaned in close, dropped a kiss on Casey’s freshly-shaved cheek.   
“Besides, your Mother just married us off in one breath, while Ellie is in there wondering how that happened when it looks to her – don’t get mad, these are her words – that you can’t ‘commit’. How bad can it get after that?”

-x-

“I hope everyone is starving,” Ellie said, standing back to admire the garlic-infused prime rib roast, plated on a bed of tiny golden potatoes, surrounded by sparkling china and white candles. “We’re ready, if you want to come and sit down?”

Chuck watched his sister flush at the appreciative compliments. “Looks great, sis,” he added to the mix. The kid began to pull out two of the chairs, a strategic choice and a safe distance away from the sisters. The Guy End of the Table. Maybe it would give Casey the chance to engage in some innocuous manly talk; the Lakers chances to make the playoffs, the new all-terrain tires he had just bought for the Vic, or –

“What … oh, no you don’t. That’s not the seating chart. Right here.” Ellie pointed to two chairs. “Maggie and I will sit here, and Chuck? I’d like you and Casey – John – to sit across from us. Ida, would you like to sit at the end?”

Well, wasn’t that … cozy? Because those five chairs were arranged awfully close. 

“Honing your interrogation skills, sis?” the kid asked, giving a chuckle that came out a bit too nervous. “I see you put Devon and Danny at the other end, and I thought that … maybe I – I mean we, Casey and I – could talk to … Devon about ….”

“Wingsuit skydiving, dude?”

“Yes!” Chuck snapped his fingers. “That’s it … wingsuit sky diving.” Oh, hell, no. Even the sound of it made him want to crap himself. “I thought that maybe –” 

“Sit,” Ellie and Maggie ordered at the same time. After exchanging a surprised glance, Ellie went on, “Chuck, you are not jumping out of a plane without a parachute – or with one for that matter.” She turned to the other end of the table where the Captain was already describing to Dan how a BASE jump wearing the bird suit was a better rush than just a dive from a plane. “Or you, buster. I don’t plan on letting you fall to your death before our first wedding anniversary.”

“Babe, it’s perfectly safe.” Devon frowned, but the color in Dan’s face was beginning to return. “We won’t do it over the canyon. Just water, El.”

“Comforting.” She motioned in Casey’s direction. “Take a seat, John.”

Casey braced his hands on the back of the chair and stared hard at his sister. 

Did he really think that would work? Shaking his head, Chuck took his lover by the arm and steered him down. “You’re cute when you’re nervous,” the kid breathed against his hair. “But there’s no getting out of it.”

“I don’t get nervous, Bartowski,” Casey mumbled back at him, begrudgingly taking a seat across from his sister. “It’s the sweater. Making me itch.” 

“Uh-huh.” Chuck rolled his eyes and watched as everyone dug in. Mysteriously, the families seemed on their best behavior. Maggie and Ellie actually did discuss work – and why shouldn’t they? Chuck thought. Look at them. Both were ambitious and smart, and the two women filled the air with talk of research, or amusing stories of coworkers. 

Why did he and Casey worry? He wanted to lean over and say ‘told you so’. 

Half-listening, Chuck leaned back in his seat and slid an arm over the rail of Casey’s chair. He heedlessly ruffled the hair above his collar, just starting to curl at the ends, which meant he’d be getting a haircut within the next few days. Casey didn’t like the curl, but Chuck did, so the kid was obligated to enjoy the feel of it like this while he could. 

“Not so bad, was it, sweetie,” he murmured against his ear. “I knew they could get along.”

Casey did the thing with his eyes that told him not to be an idiot. Making Chuck think long and hard about that, he turned to nod politely at a story Mother was now telling, revealing the time Casey’s father tacked the top of the tree to the wall with some fishing line when it wouldn’t stand straight.

“Why so uptight?” Chuck said softly against his temple. There was no hiding it under his fingers, because he could feel it right there on his neck, the ropes of muscles rigid as stone. “See? Our families can be normal. We’ll get out of here without one nosey question tonight.”

Casey’ grunted into his glass of seventeen-year-old scotch, courtesy of Ellie, and said nothing.

Not that he had to. The kid was getting fairly adept at the grunt lexicon, so he sat back and puffed out his bottom lip, confused. 

Amateur hour, kid. It’s not over yet.

-x-

He came to regret his smug attitude. Rather quickly.

“Sweetie, did you tell your sister about your adventure last year?” Maggie asked, turning to Chuck.

“Who? Me?” Chuck sat up taller in his chair. “I … had an adventure?” Crap. He wasn’t even paying attention. “I don’t think –”

“Sure you did. When we went to church potluck to hear the choir, and you sampled too much of the apple cider punch?” Grinning at the memory of it, Maggie thumbed her plate off to the side and picked up her wine glass, slanting a look at Ellie over the top of it. “His loving boyfriend forgot to warn him about the recipe of that particular brew. Your brother is an adorable drunk, though. Isn’t he, Johnnie?”

“Wait a minute.” Ellie slowly set down her fork. “Last year? What do you mean?” She looked around the table at the blank faces. “Was Chuck … with your family at Christmas last year?”

“Of course he was,” Maggie answered. “He didn’t … tell you? I would think that he would’ve mentioned a trip to the Midwest in a blizzard?”

Next to him, a groan rattled in Casey’s chest. The look alone should’ve melted Maggie’s lips together, but apparently she had built up immunity to it over the years. Instead, she smiled at her brother.

“A blizzard? Hold on. You … were with the Caseys at Christmas – and didn’t tell me? Chuck?”

The kid felt his throat closing up. “Uh, it’s a funny story about that, El,” he said. “You see, when you went to Connecticut last year for your Awesome family holiday, I was … invited I guess is the word I’m looking for –”

“I thought you spent last Christmas here,” Ellie broke in. “With Morgan? You told me you played video games until your eyes bled. That there were pizza boxes to the ceiling?”

“El, it was a very last minute thing,” Chuck said. He cast a glimpse to the right to see Casey’s knuckles turning white around his glass of scotch. “I really didn’t know until the day before that I –”

“The day before?” Maggie shook her head. “So basically, you were kidnapped, thrown on a plane, and forced him to come home with him?” 

“Well, you see –” Whoa. Come to think of it, it was eerie the way he could barely argue with any of what she had pointed out. “It was a … surprise, I guess, but –”

“I knew something was up with the two of you last year,” Maggie said. “You seemed too unsure … of all of it. Us, but especially … him.” 

“I only know this,” Mother spoke up, putting a soothing hand on Chuck’s arm. “When my son showed up with you last year – wearing barely a decent coat, and giving us those awkward smiles … well, we could tell you were someone he finally cared about … and maybe Johnnie felt he had been hiding you from us long enough.” 

“You know what?” Dan said, getting up from the table. “Andy and I are going to start on the dishes.” 

“But dad, I wanna hear this part –”

“Good idea. I’ll lend a hand,” Devon chimed in as he scooped up a handful of silverware. “C’mon, guys.” 

At the other end of the table, the men began clearing dishes at a speed Chuck would find impressive if he wasn’t freaking out. Within mere seconds, they had balanced a load of plates and platters, and hightailed it to the safety of kitchen. 

When they had cleared out, Maggie turned back to Chuck. “So you didn’t answer,” she said, pointing her fork at him. “Did he drag you to meet us or not?”

“That’s ridiculous. Of course I wanted –” 

“Because no offense, kid, but I couldn’t help but notice you were a nervous mess when you arrived.”

“I’m … I’m always like that when I meet new people.” Chuck took a hurried gulp of his beer, not looking at Maggie. “I get that little twitch – annoying, really –”

“Well, that much is true, at least,” Ellie said. “I can vouch for his – no offense, honey – gracefulness whenever he meets someone new. Well, anyone who doesn’t speak Klingon, I should say. Nerds, he’s comfortable with.”

“Geez, thanks, sis.” Chuck blushed at being outed. 

“Ellie, I stick by my theory. I just had that odd feeling Chuck had no idea where my brother was even taking him.” Maggie inclined her head at Casey. “But … how could that be, right?”

“Of course I knew where we were going,” Chuck argued. That much was the truth, at least, if you looked at it sideways and backwards. Only because Casey had let something slip about Scott AFB, and the kid had looked it up with his Google Maps app before the plane landed. Well. He should probably leave that last part off.

“Chuck, why did you not … tell me you were going home with Casey?” Ellie pulled a few long locks away from her shoulder, her face reflecting an ocean of big sisterly concern. “I mean, I didn’t even know the two of you were … together until after Christmas.”

“After?” Mother asked. “Chuck must be much more adept at keeping secrets than he looks. Surely you knew that the boys had been together for months before then, according to what Johnnie told us.”

“Johnnie said that, hum?” Ellie took her brother’s sleeve and gave it a tug. “You were with Casey for … months?” He saw her hazel eyes swimming with a dozen questions. “But that means Sarah was just a –”

“Who’s Sarah?” Maggie wondered, lifting a brow. “Wait. Sarah was your … beard?” 

“No, no, no!” Chuck fiddled with his fork until his sister slapped gently at his hand. “She was my …. There really isn’t a word to describe –”

“Girlfriend.” Ellie gave in and downed the last slosh in her glass. “That was Chuck’s girlfriend. Before Casey. Not to say that Casey is his … now, because we can all see he’s most definitely not the …. Devon, sweetie?”

“Yes, babe?” Recognizing the tone, Devon stuck his head out from the kitchen. “Need me for something?”

“Can you open the Cabernet that Ida brought? I seem to be … empty.”

“Right on it.”

Chuck’s brows drew down. “Maybe we should talk about something else?” He angled around to see how Casey was faring. For a man who had written the book on stony expressions, this one had to go straight to the Rock Hall of Fame. His contribution to the conversation? Glaring. Oh, and knotting the damn napkin around his finger and thumb. 

Say something. Anything!

“Yes, good idea. We should change the topic, sweetie.” Mother smiled at Devon as he made a round with the bottle, filling each of the women’s glasses. “I have an idea. Chuck, tell us more about your project at work. The simulator in the cockpit? It’s quite … uh, fascinating.”

“My job?” Chuck had to scramble to keep from tipping over his glass. “I ... I’m not authorized to discuss –”

“Cockpit?” Ellie tipped her head at him. “They have a new simulator game at the Buy More?”

“Buy More?” Mother inquired, and a confused smile creased one corner of her mouth. “You mean the electronics store … where they sell gadgets? Why would ….? Chuck was telling us about his project as a … software designer for –”

“Software designer.” Ellie regarded him in a manner he had not witnessed since the eighth grade school records hacking incident. “Really. Is that so?” 

“Yes. Lockheed Martin,” Mother confirmed. 

“Chuck, why don’t you explain that?” Ellie’s words twisted his ear, right where her fingers wanted to be. “Your job?” 

The kid balled up his napkin. He couldn’t even look to Casey for help, because the man next to him had become a perfectly carved slab of marble. 

“I lied,” Chuck said in a blurt, and all eyes, even from the other end of the table where the guys were stacking dessert plates, turned to stare. “I just wanted … to make sure that you liked me. That I wasn’t some stupid kid who had latched on to a good thing. Just going for a quick thrill ride, or something like that. Because … I’m not.” 

“Chuck, we wouldn’t think that about you.” Mother straightened and rose to his defense. “And now that the two of you are living together, and we know that Johnnie’s in good hands, well, I’m sure you had your reasons –” 

Chuck darted a look at Casey. He had lowered the glass in his hand, giving a slow, silent shake of his head. For once, his lover’s deathly quiet demeanor frightened him worse than anything. What was going through his head?

“Wait.” Ellie sat back in her chair, her eyes wide. “How did that happen, Chuck? Since when are the two of you living together?”

Chuck ran a hand over his unruly hair. “Oh, hell,” he whispered.

“What do you mean?” Maggie asked, watching her brother’s face for any sign of denial. “Not living together? Of course they are.” 

Ellie turned the wine glass between her fingers. “Chuck still has his bedroom here. He even sleeps here half the time. Most days, I feel like I never know where he’s going to be. He seems … lost half the time.” A regretful expression crossed her face, realizing she should’ve left that observation in her head. “You know, let’s …. We should probably try to –”

“That’s not Casey’s fault – that’s mine,” Chuck sputtered before he could stop. “He, uh ….” God, what? Asked him to move in? Because he never had. Pushing away the unsettling thought, he went on, “Actually, I’m not – ah.”

Just that splayed, strong hand, the fingers invading touch, was enough to stop him. 

Casey had closed his hand on his wrist. Though he could see his lover was being gentle, Chuck drew in a breath at the touch, and glanced to him. His boyfriend was motionless, yet his jaw was held tight enough to fracture. 

“God dammit.” Casey’s voice. Rough and gravelly, with one word that cut like a rusty saw blade. “Enough.” 

It was enough. The kid wanted to bury his face and start over, anything to make the night go away. But he found some strength in the other hand that now rested on his thigh, a thumb stroking over the curve of his knee. Settling him, settling the ball of nerves in his stomach. 

“Johnnie,” Mother began, the first to recover from the bath of ice water in Casey’s tone, “we should just –”

“No, Ma.” The below-the-belt shots had roused a side of Casey that the kid rarely saw. Hell. Never. His blue eyes became sharp as honed arrowheads, his body shifting into shut-your-asses-and-listen posture. “Not this time. My turn.” 

As Maggie opened her mouth, Mother raised her hand and waved her off. “Let him speak, Maggie. My son has something to say.”

Casey breathed out. The hand on Chuck’s wrist slid low, touching his fingers. “None of this was the kid’s fault,” he said. “It was my doing – with damn good reason for every bit of it. So if someone wants to take it up with me,” and his voice lowered, “now would be the time.” 

He pressed his lips together, his gaze not wavering. Jesus, that.

“Good. Because I’m only saying this once. It’s no one’s business how we got here.” He swallowed heavily, something Chuck had not witnessed often, but he liked the exposure of emotion that came with it. Then it was gone. 

And the rawness made him realize he should be rescuing him right back. “Casey, you don’t have to –” 

“No. Let me finish.” Casey said it sternly, then more softly, his hand gentling over his wrist, “and then we’re done.”

Chuck’s eyes cut down, avoiding the faces around the table. With his head bowed, he felt Casey’s other hand move on his leg, strong fingers cupping his knee. The gesture sent a spurt of warmth from his hand to his belly. Which he was sure Casey had intended. 

“I’ve done some things that I’m proud of.” Casey’s voice was scratchy, so quiet. “I’ve served this country, did it without question. Without regret,” he said. “Along the way, I’ve made a hell of a lot of mistakes … too many to count or remember.” He paused, his eyes settling on the table, to the place where their hands wound together, fingers intertwined and hiding where one ended and the other began. “And after all this, I was just hoping that maybe Fate didn’t kick me in the balls, into my throat again …. I've been there one too many times, but not now. ... because, I found what I wanted right here.”

Holy Christ. Saying this here and now, in front of them. The words, more than the touch on the kid’s knee, seared his skin, making him feel his own pulse. Or Casey’s. Hands together, they were the same. Chuck let out a breath and looked to side, not knowing what he expected. Maybe to see something normal, or his usual steely platitudes. 

It couldn’t have been farther in his eyes. They went to the color of lakes and skies, unfathomably deep as either. 

“This is it, and I’m done explaining.” Casey squeezed down on his leg, fingertips digging into the denim. “I’ve made a choice … awhile back. If I ever have to go away, this is the place I’m coming back to.” 

-x-

Casey’s Apartment  
25 December 2009  
2:56 am PST 

The sound of his exhalation, the burr of a warm noise, grazed his cheek. Arms tangled around him, brawny ropes of muscle and flesh, an invitation to sink back into the comfort and heat of it. To sleep.

Nothing was that easy. Chuck folded into himself, scooped the blanket up and around his shoulders, feeling a flush with the memory of tonight. His mind whirred and clicked, he was just so fucking exhausted, the stress of the past few days seeping out of him. 

Not all of it. 

Casey’s words at the table dribbled through his consciousness, chasing away sleep like a trickle of water over his skin. 

He shouldn’t lift his head and look at the clock. Why bother? What good did it to know how many minutes or hours had passed since the last time he last checked? The ticking from the clock on the dresser tracked his heartbeat. Time stilled or ran, Chuck wasn’t certain which. 

His voice passed through his head, buzzed down his spine.

I’ve made a choice … awhile back. My home … the place I’m coming back to.

Pretty words, weighted and breathless at the same time, ones that sent an ache of pleasure through him. Twisted with strength and courage and fear, other feelings that he couldn’t explain.

Only this.

Why had he never said them to him? Only to him.

-x-

Casey’s Apartment  
25 December 2009  
8:17 am PST 

A hand was on his forehead, large and cool. Long fingers ruffled his hair along the top of his head, dragging down to his nape. 

“Not happening, kid.”

Chuck responded to the unwelcome interruption by wrapping a hand around one end of his pillow and pulling it over his head. “G’way,” the kid said drowsily. “Too early. It’s Christmas. Lemme sleep.”

Instead of actually listening to him, additional unsolicited help came in the form of the hand sliding onto his shoulder, and a brusque yank of the blanket. Cool air rushed in, replacing the cocoon of warmth the kid had trapped under the cover. Groping for the blanket, Chuck was grateful at least for his boxers, or otherwise he’d be bare-ass naked and sprawled over the sheet by now.

“Get up,” Casey ordered, clamping down on an ankle.

“Nuh-uh.” Chuck snuffled, his brain coming out of the fog as he curled in a ball, giving Casey a nice view of his back. “New rules. When we’re in Burbank, we don’t live by the ‘unwrap by the break of dawn policy’. We live by the Bartowski Principle – which means we sleep in until … at least eight.” 

“Heh. Suppose you think you’re just gonna roll over and ignore me, cupcake?” Casey’s voice told him that would not be an acceptable consideration. 

“And I suppose you’re going to torture me?” The kid brought up one arm and swatted at the air, trying to latch onto the cover and remove the two hundred plus pound nuisance breathing down his neck. “Sleeping, Case. Another half hour …?”

“Bartowski?” The hand around his ankle pulled, demonstrating how easy it would be to end the argument, something unspoken about a lean back meeting a hard floor. “Look at me.”

Chuck took a try at dislodging that pesky hand by dragging up his other foot to nudge it, and then gave it a little kick when that didn’t quite work. “Go. Away.”

Casey, in turn, clamped down on the other foot. 

“Okay. Ow.” It figured that Casey would not understand the need for sleeping in on Christmas. Chuck rubbed his eyes – what time was it, anyway? – letting them drift open. “Can I have my feet back? Please?”

“Giving you a choice, kid. You can wake up the hard way,” and Chuck felt the mattress shift a moment before Casey pressed his lips to his ear, moist and hot. Then he breathed in, dragged one of his hands up along his leg, tracing the dips and contours of sinewy muscle, curling it over his hip to shake him. “Or get woken up with a hard one, but you are waking up.”

“You’re enjoying this too much.”

His lips ghosted warmly across Chuck’s cheek. “It’s past eight o’clock, kid,” Casey remarked, his hand now absently tracing over his bare ribcage. Enticing circles. “Mother decided you deserved to sleep in.” 

“It … is? Mmm. A Casey family first, I presume.” The kid became more fully awake, turning his head to catch those warm lips with his, letting them slowly burn with Casey’s taste. When he pulled away, Chuck pointed his dark eyes up at him and ran his fingers into the crook of Casey’s elbow, trying to tickle him. “I’m still doing this under protest, you know.”

“Yeah?” Casey lifted himself by bracing his arms, better to loom over him. “Protest this.” Before Chuck had registered the sly grin, Casey reached under the cover and squeezed his ass cheek. Hard. Saying his. 

“Hey – ow!” Chuck swatted at him. “You know, if Beckman ever decided to dust the Intersect for fingerprints, you’d really have some explaining –”

“Five minutes,” he said, blue eyes lit with amusement, leaving one more kiss before getting off the bed. “If you’re still here, then I get to do it my way.” 

Chuck gave a playful lob of the pillow in his direction, but the sleuth dodged it the second before the pillow would have hit him in Chuck’s intended target. That perfect ass of his. 

“Jerk.” Chuck smiled to remove the sting from his words. “Won’t miss if you come back here,” the kid mumbled, rolling over on his back. It took him a few seconds too long to realize that lying on his stomach would afford his lover one his favorite views, the nice swell of his buttocks outlined by the rucked up sheets. He should probably not do this, but the kid lifted his hips a little and snuggled his arm under a pillow, just to ... teach him a lesson. There. Comfortable. 

“Bartowski.” 

The kid cracked an eye open, if only to watch Casey’s gaze travel over the length of his body, stretched out long and warm under the blankets. “Um-hmm?” he breathed, smiling into the pillow. 

“Jesus. Little fucking cock tease.” Smirking, Casey bit down on his lip and began to pull the door closed. “Five minutes. Or else Mother will be perturbed with both of us for being late.”

Wisely, Chuck waited until the door shut before making a face at him. Rubbing the stubble on his chin, he stared up at the ceiling, wondering if he could at least get a few more minutes of shut eye. 

That was, of course, when his phone chirped. Text message. 

“Who else doesn’t sleep in on Christmas?” Chuck pushed a hand through his untidy hair and let out a huff. It chirped again, so this time he gave in, using his long reach to swipe it off his night stand. 

Well, that was the answer. Morgan, that’s who.

You owe me big time, Morgan had typed, then, Are you there?

So Chuck thumbed a text message as he pulled the blanket back up. And Merry Christmas to you. Owe you? Stand in line. A long pause told the kid that Morgan was certainly interpreting that the wrong way. Your Tower of Terror? 

Chuck shifted a leg under the blanket. Ha. Never mind. The gift we picked out? 

On my way to Anna’s. Left it in a box behind the flower pot next to Casey’s door.

Wait. Had they discussed that part of the plan? Leaving it out in the open didn’t sound safe for such an important gift. 

As he sprung up from the bed, he smacked his toe on the edge of the dresser. “Ow, ow, ow. Where are my pants?” Eyes scouring the floor, he couldn’t blame Casey for taking them. This time, anyway. Luckily, he spotted a clean t-shirt, tossed it over his head, and then typed, 

How long ago? Are you sure it’s okay?

Relax, dude. Think about it. Would anyone take something from the front of John Casey’s apartment?

Okay. There they were, sweat pants, sloppy but comfortable and perfect for Christmas morning. Chuck hopped on one foot while he pulled a pant leg over the other ankle. When he managed to do this without killing himself, he sat on the bed and thumbed the screen.

Point. 

Hell, no one in the Echo Park complex had that kind of a death wish.

And we’re back to the point, you owe me for this, Morgan came back.

Frowning, Chuck swiped his thumb over the touchscreen. Can’t talk you out of the payment? 

Not a chance, man. One night. Marathon of my choice. Another pause, because he had to relish the next element more than the others. On Casey’s sixty inch plasma hi-def.

The kid clutched his phone tighter. He should just drop it, shouldn’t he? Go along with the plan, but …. 

About that, maybe there’s somewhere else –

That was the deal, Morgan iterated.

Chuck caught his reflection in the mirror and hastily smoothed down his hair. Then he typed, You win. Just give me some time, okay? 

There was a bit of silence while Morgan enjoyed his victory.

While Chuck considered when to spring this on the big guy – a few days from now, cocooned in post-coital bliss and on the brink of sleep sounded like the obvious answer – he typed, 

And seriously, thank you. 

Chuck picked up his tracker watch and slipped it on, avoiding the grouchy look he would get if he came downstairs even on Christmas morning without it. He smoothed his rumpled sweat pants, really disliking his lover for his pressed jeans and crisp shirt he had caught sight of a minute ago, and headed down the stairs. 

-x-

As much as Chuck was dreading being under the scrutiny of Casey’s family while Casey unwrapped his gift, the second holiday with his kin seemed to be sailing pretty smoothly so far. Kind of nice, actually. Which was not the word he would normally choose for being trapped in close proximity with the Caseys for long periods of time. 

But to be fair, the past hour was almost like watching a Hallmark channel Christmas special. At least the sappy bit of it he had witnessed from time to time, thanks to Ellie.

Taking his eyes from the family members ripping into their gifts, he glanced over at his boyfriend. Casey had settled his elbow on the back of the sofa, a long arm draped over Chuck’s shoulders. Something in that touch pinned him down, but he didn’t mind. The kid liked the feel of him, the weight of his arm there. The pads of Casey’s fingertips grazed his nape, sliding up to vaguely twist his curls in and out between his fingers, quietly exploring that area safely out of sight.

Chuck shifted so he was sitting nearly on his hip, and subtly placed a hand on his knee. Despite the insanity of the past few days – hell, since the moment he had walked into the apartment to find the Caseys planted in his boyfriend’s living room – Casey seemed relaxed as a still pool of water, tension ebbing from his long muscles. 

The kid moved his back and leaned into him, his warmth. “Right now, I’m glad they’re here,” he whispered to the side of Casey’s bare neck. “And I think you are, too.”

Casey lifted a shoulder, though the look of measured indifference gave way to a tiny smile. Still, his only reply was to rub small circles with his fingertips, just a light tickle, over Chuck’s exposed nape. Knowing darn well it would make his skin tingle. 

Busted, big guy. You won’t admit it, but you’re happy. Smiling, Chuck squeezed his knee, settled in against the slope of his chest, and watched the Caseys unwrap their gifts. He figured there was a time in a person’s life, right around that scary brink of adulthood, when the pleasure of giving surpassed the getting part. A time like now, seeing that both men were content to lean on each other and enjoy the moment of bliss. 

Holy crap. Did he really use that word and the Caseys together? They were under his skin, he guessed. 

He shifted his attention to watch Dan reveal a sweater – not of the holiday variety, but chocolate brown cashmere – smiling as he held it up. They took note while Maggie opened a box that contained new pajamas from her husband and a beaded necklace from Mother. The wristwatch from her brother surprised her – though, later in private, Casey would have tell her it was really a gift from the NSA, and he would show her how to use the panic button. The real gift from both of them was a pair of earrings, more dangling and daring then her usual, but Ellie had helped pick them out. 

“Open something, Chuck,” Mother said, her cheerful voice yanking him out of his reverie. “Here. Start with this.”

Chuck drew back, hesitating, since all eyes were now on him. “You didn’t have to – oh.” A sharp elbow dug into his middle, so he gave a startled look to his boyfriend – Thanks for that – and took the gift. “Not ticking,” he joked lamely out of embarrassment. “That’s promising.”

Mother laughed, passing off another gift to him. “And this one is from Maggie and Dan.” 

Chuck plastered on his most polite smile and shook it. Please, please, don’t let it be the heavy hint of pre-marriage gifts. Though … the kid wasn’t sure what that would be. A set of nice knives? New sheets for their bed? The possibilities alone made his nerves jump. Simply because Casey wouldn’t find the humor in it, leading to more awkwardness. They had more than enough of that, thank you. 

“Not a snake,” Casey said in a bare murmur, dragging his thumb over the side of his neck to make him turn. “All your gifts were … vetted.”

“By you?”

Casey smoothed down a few of Chuck’s messy locks he had been toying with at the back of his head. “Okay, maybe the hairy moron might’ve given some advice on the nerd paraphernalia,” he admitted, looking sheepish at the confession. “You’ll like them. And Chrissakes, smile. Mother’s watching.”

“You were coached through the nerd gift-giving process – by Morgan?” Chuck sat up abruptly, grinning at the thought of the two of them browsing the aisles together. And they hadn’t done too shabby, either. His smile brightened at the new wireless headset for his gaming console, since he had cracked his other one and had to fix it with some duct tape. If that wasn’t enough, he was surprised by the latest Xbox game he had his eye on. 

Chuck genuinely thanked them, while Casey made a comment about something to keep the kid busy on Desert Cowboy Shooting nights.

Whatever that was, because there were some things Chuck never wanted to know about his boyfriend. Desert Cowboy Shooting nights, when he disappeared for a few hours and returned with the pungent smell of cordite on his clothing – to say nothing of the smile and a hard on – happened to be one of those. Chuck just enjoyed the aftereffect, and left it at that.

The kid snuck a kiss and shifted his shoulder into the crook of Casey’s. The morning became a warm blur, snuggled on the couch next to his lover. More fresh coffee, more chatter, the smell of a frittata in the oven, and the warm hand skimming his skin. 

Chuck was asleep within minutes.

-x-

“Princess?” Casey pressed his lips to the edge of his ear, hot breath on his neck. “You’re snoring, and though I don’t mind being your blanket, I gotta take a leak.”

“Hm?” He awoke, bleary-eyed, to the slide of Casey’s smooth fingers over the slant of his jaw. Blinking at him, he shifted to free his boyfriend from the curve of his body. “Chivalry is alive and well, I see.” 

“Good. You’re awake,” Maggie said, out of the blue. 

If he wasn’t by then, well, her perky voice sure did the trick. “Yes?” Chuck asked, sounding hoarse, and he rubbed his eyes. “Did I … miss something?”

“There’s one last gift here,” Maggie replied. She had begun to clean up, but stopped when she came across a box, still unopened. “Come to think of it, I didn’t see what the two of you gave each other. Should one of you open this?”

Chuck slanted a look to the side to gauge Casey’s reaction. “That’s … I don’t know what that is – John, should I –”

“No,” Casey said, tightening the hand on his shirt to keep Chuck where he was. When the kid turned with a puzzled look, his boyfriend shook his head. “Later.”

“Later?” Maggie picked it up, despite his wishes, and gave it a good shake. “Heavy. What’s the secret, little brother?"

Casey’s other fist constricted around the coffee mug balancing on his knee. “Here’s a secret, sis. It’s called none of your fu –”

“All right.” Mother clapped her hands suddenly, making all heads turn in her direction. “Andrew? Didn’t you unwrap one of those remote controlled cars?”

The teen looked confused, hearing that his grandmother’s tone had sharpened. “You saw me, Grandma. Why? Was it for Chuck instead?”

Chuck’s face clouded up, but there was no time to sit and stew over that. 

Mother clapped again. “Good. And Dan, when do we leave tomorrow?”

Dan tilted a brow at her, just as perplexed as his son. “The flight’s at noon, Ida. Why?”

“Tomorrow at noon.” She put her hands on her hips and whipped her attention around to Chuck this time. “Sweetie, what is the temperature supposed to be today?”

“Well, I don’t … I guess I didn’t check –?”

“Ma, no one looks at the forecast here,” Casey explained, shrugging. He leaned back again, his hand taking Chuck’s shirt with him, so that he had no choice but to recline against his side. “It’s not like home. Doesn’t suck. Nobody owns a shovel. It’ll probably get close to seventy today.” Settling his arm against the back of the sofa, he curled his fingers into Chuck’s hair more deeply. “What are you getting at?”

“And Maggie,” Mother said, ignoring her son, “what will the weather be like when we get home?”

“Well, to use Johnnie’s eloquence, it will suck. Why all the questions? And why hasn’t Chuck opened his gift from Johnnie? I want to see what a year or two of a steady relationship means in his skewed – ah. Mother, what are you doing?”

“Taking you to the park with your family.” To make her point, she pushed gently yet firmly on Maggie’s lower back, propelling her towards the stairs. “Go get dressed. We have to try out that car, don’t we Andrew, and the rest of us should get some fresh air before we leave.”

“But what about them?” Maggie exchanged a look with her brother. “Don’t they have to come with us?”

“The boys need some time alone, I think,” Mother replied, and she put her hands together again since Dan and Andy were still sitting. “They can unwrap their gifts without the mob breathing down their necks, eh? So let’s go get dressed. Move it.”

Proving she wasn’t in the mood to tolerate foot dragging, Mother herded her clan up the stairs. The last thing Chuck caught before she disappeared behind them was a flash of her grin and a wink. 

What the hell had just happened? Still staring after them, Chuck turned his face away from the stairs and lounged against Casey’s firm chest, that perfect slope where they seemed to fit together. “I had no idea,” he finally managed. 

“What’s that?” Casey asked, ruffling his hair with the hand resting on his nape.

“That it was so easy to get rid of them.”

“Rookie mistake, thinking that,” Casey said, snorting at his naiveté. “When she says an hour, she means sixty minutes and zero seconds.”

“Well, considering what I just witnessed, I also think your Mother is a very smart lady.” Chuck smiled and laid his hand on Casey’s cheek, his thumb caressing the edge of his lips. “That explains a few things.”

When Casey looked at him, there was something dark that shifted in his eyes, and it made Chuck go still. What went on in his head at times was a mystery Chuck would never understand. Like the look he had now, studying his face with that blue gaze of his. After a long moment, Casey’s fingers threaded through the dark waves over his collar one more time, squeezed gently, and slid away. 

The kid expected him to say something right then. But from the first time he had met him, he knew to never expect that from John Casey. He’d speak when he was damn well ready to. And he wasn’t quite there yet. 

Leaving him alone with his questioning look, Casey got up from the couch, picked up their mugs from the side table, and took them into the kitchen. By the time he returned with freshly brewed coffee, the Caseys were already tromping down the stairs, collecting the remote control car and batteries.

“We’ll be back in an hour or so,” Mother told them, pulling on a sweater and ushering Danny and Andrew out the door. “Margaret, let’s go.”

“Be right there, Mother,” Maggie said, sidling up to her brother. As her eyes roved over him speculatively, she gave him a wicked grin. “Ma’s giving you this time to exchange gifts in private, Johnnie. Make sure you actually have something you can show us when we get back, hm?” 

-x-

“There you are,” Chuck said, keeping his voice low. “Another passing grade for Morgan on pulling a plan off without a hitch.”   
His gaze swept around the courtyard, noticing that it was empty. So far, so good. He pushed aside the wayward undergrowth of the climbing vines, lowered himself to his knees. Granted, the sturdy cardboard box didn’t look like much, but it was what was inside, right? The kid stuck his finger in one of the holes just to confirm the gift was there, straightened the bow, and carried it against his chest into the apartment. “Casey? Where’d you go?”

Casey looked up from his seat on the floor, assembling Mother’s new mini vacuum cleaner. His expression said why the fuck wasn’t hose A fitting into slot B?

“Oh. Looks fun. Here.” Chuck held out the box. “This is for you.”

“What … is that?” Casey asked, setting down the screwdriver.

“Um, merry Christmas to you too, sweetie.” Chuck shifted uncomfortably on his feet. “It’s your … present.”

Casey eyed the box and arched a brow, relaxing a bit now that he had stepped away from the vacuum. “That’s too big to be the SIG P290 Subcompact I asked for.”

“Funny. But I thought you had that covered. I swear a new shipment of firearms that someone happened to requisition just showed up on Castle’s doorstep. A little something from Uncle Sam?”

“What.” Kudos, because Casey almost managed to look innocent. “You assume they’re not Walker’s?”

Chuck rolled his eyes. “And while you’re at it, nice job starting the assembly when you know I’m going to be forced to finish that for you. You’re encroaching on nerd territory with that.”

Casey grunted and threw down the instructions in disgust. “Chinese jibberish. Eh.”

“I know what you’re doing. Trying to avoid unwrapping my gift because you think you don’t like presents?” 

“No thinking about it. Hate gifts.”

“You hate –? Nuh-uh.” He touched Casey’s arm with the corner of the box, making him turn. “That’s not going to work, so come and sit on the couch. I want you to open this before they get back.”

As Casey gathered up the pile of components, Chuck took the opportunity to really look at him, his wide arms, broad back. Not the spy, not the handler. His lover. It twisted something warm inside of him to see him this way, a man who understood the complexity of the cycles and his roles, but also the ironic simplicity of being part of a family when the rest of his life was too complex. 

God, he loved him. 

It felt weird to think it. Only think it.

While he tried to push the thought away, he looked at the cardboard box, hoping the shadow of contemplation didn’t pass through his eyes. “Don’t kill me. I hope you like it.”

Casey left his side to sit on the couch. “No promises until I see it.”

Given that he delivered the line with a lazy smile, Chuck decided it would be safe to take the spot next to him. After getting it this far safely, he tried not to joggle the box as he lowered himself against Casey’s side, feeling warmth at their long thighs and arms brushing together. 

“You probably want to do this quickly,” the kid said, watching as Casey lifted the bow that held the lid on. “Because, well …. I should warn you –”

“Bartowski?”

“Yes?”

Casey’s brows creased in concern. Or at least something that didn’t look like gift-giving happiness. “Why is there something … orange,” he said, “sticking out of that hole on the side?”

“Um,” Chuck started since nothing was immediately coming to mind. “I guess … that would be ….” He took one look at the box and gave Casey a bolstering, yet nervous, smile. “His fur?”

“Fur,” Casey echoed, and whatever he had running through this head at the sight of tufts sticking through the punched air hole, it made his voice sound more wary than usual. 

“That’s correct.”

“His?”

“You should open the box,” Chuck said hurriedly. He ran his tongue across his lower lip, nerves jangling. “He’s … been in there for over an hour.”

Casey looked down at the cardboard box, then slipped a few fingers under the flap. Nothing immediately hopped out or sprayed them with an undefined toxin like the usual spy routine, but it didn’t stop his hand from going still. 

“Well? Aren’t you going to … finish opening it?” It took a nod, c’mon, keep going, to get Casey to slowly pull back another flap and peer inside.

“…. the hell?” 

Well. Not exactly the joyous reaction he was hoping for. 

“Um … Merry Christmas?” 

Casey shook his head. A pair of bright eyes had locked in on him, seemingly unsure of the large human close enough to touch soft fur. No worry of that, though, because the big guy hadn’t even considered extending a hand.

Chuck waited, watching him. It took a lot to admit it, but maybe he wasn’t much to look at, this furry guy. Their maybe cat. He had orange and white stripes, head to toe, except for a white tip of his crooked tail. Yellow-green eyes, the color of early spring blades of grass, if Chuck had to pin a description to them. They’d look peculiar anywhere else, but they seemed to settle right with him. 

“Sweetie?” Chuck’s eyes searched his face. “Can you say something?”

Casey chewed the inside of his cheek, contemplating the scruffy and over-sized tabby. The cat didn’t know what to make of him either, but the feline was obviously not amused at being abandoned in a box, even with air holes and a soft towel Morgan had used as a blanket. His ears had gone flat, tail whipping once or twice. Interesting. Casey’s present sort of had a pissed-off look, but Chuck figured this wasn’t the time to point out endearing similarities. 

Because Jesus, would it be too much to say something?

The kid told himself this could be going much worse. He wasn’t sure how yet, but somewhere in the universe the scenario had to exist. 

He had become pretty well-versed in deciphering Casey’s expressions. Nuclear submarines, he called them. (Not out loud. He enjoyed the use of his opposable thumbs, after all). But it fit. Swimming under the surface, lethal if required. 

Cracking the code to his looks was just one of the advantages of being in a relationship with a man who could put his pinky through someone’s liver. Chuck knew every jaw clench and muscle twitch, imprinted in the same living quarters as the Intersect.

Except this time. 

Casey exhaled. That was it.

Making a valiant attempt to smile, Chuck reached into the box since Casey didn’t seem to be moving. “Hey … Finn. You want out of there, big guy?” Being as gentle as he could, remembering to support all of his paws like the lady had showed him, Chuck lifted the orange cat from the box. Just as carefully, he set him on his boyfriend’s lap, a hefty ball of fur and claws draped over Casey’s knees. “There … there you go.” 

Casey stared at the inquisitive feline, curled on his lap. Stared. Chuck could smell confusion coming off him – which, for one, was a scent unfamiliar when it came to John Casey, and two, it wasn’t reassuring him any. 

“Can you please say something?” Chuck held his breath, fearing it.

Long seconds passed. Casey tilted his head to the side, pressing his lips together. Tapping his finger against his knee. 

“This gift,” he finally said, turning his head away, “is the damnedest looking subscription to American Handgunner that I’ve ever seen.”

The smile the kid was holding together became forced. “Um. Well … when I asked you what you wanted, you just did that I-should-be-ignoring-you thing and told me you didn’t need anything.”

“That’s true.”

“Are you kidding?” Chuck rolled his eyes and reached out to scratch the cat behind the ears. “You’re my boyfriend. We’ve been together for a year. Exactly a year. Did you really think I was going to get you nothing for Christmas?”

“No,” Casey replied. He watched the cat closely as the furry guy arched into the welcome touch of Chuck’s fingers. “That’s why I mentioned the subscription.”

“So let me get this straight. You wanted me to get you something related to the one thing about you – well, one of the things about you – that makes me want to wet myself. Nice.” Chuck shrugged. “But, seriously? Just … no, okay?”

Casey’s attention flicked up briefly, lingering on Chuck’s pained smile, to his brown eyes. “I know you. Most the time, Bartowski, you go off half-cocked. Not thinking, just throwing yourself into a situation without considering the consequences.” He nodded at the tabby, circling into a ball on his lap and content with the petting. “But not this. You have a reason … for this.” A deep breath. “Mind explaining to me the story behind the cat, princess?”

“Finn,” Chuck corrected, the only one smiling at his lame joke. 

“Still waiting.”

“Oh, right.” He laid a hand on Casey’s, lightly squeezing his fingers, and felt them relax under his touch. It gave a boost to his confidence, so with a tentative look, the kid picked up his hand and placed it on the soft fur. “His name’s Finn, but we can change it if we want to.”

Casey drew back, studied his face. “Sounds … communist.”

The grin came automatically. “I’m sure this guy has no political affiliations that you wouldn’t approve of, Major. But that would be a no to Finn, then. Which is fine, I guess, because it’s only the name the volunteers gave him at the shelter.” He paused, still scratching the tabby’s neck. “Until they can find a home.”

“The shelter?” Casey took Chuck’s fingers and held on. “Death row, eh?”

“I … don’t think they like to call it that at End of the Leash Animal Rescue.” Chuck wrinkled his nose as he thought about it. “Huh. But then again, maybe they could’ve come up with a different name.”

Casey sent him an arch look and grunted. “Sounds like a bunch of geniuses to me,” he noted, glancing at the cat. “Worked on a gullible nerd, didn’t it?” 

Gullible wasn’t it. Not what he meant. And Chuck liked the way his voice went throaty, the way he cushioned the words with a brush of his thumb on the top of Chuck’s hand. He had intended soft-hearted nerd, maybe the way he had accepted another stray in his life. 

“Two nerds, actually,” Chuck said. 

“Two?”

“Morgan decided to tag along on the way to the shelter.” The thought caused a quick smile, picturing Morgan’s excitement at being involved in selecting Casey’s gift. “He kept Finn in his mother’s basement for me until this morning.”

“Still haven’t gotten to the reason, Bartowski. A cat?”

Chuck distracted himself by stroking the cat a few times. “Okay. I can explain.” He cleared his throat. “Up until last week … this guy probably didn’t think he would have more of a life than, well, his life in this box, or a cage, I guess.” The kid let his hand drop to Casey’s knee. “I was just hoping … God, this will sound stupid. I shouldn’t –”

“Say it.”

Chuck fell silent, attempting to wait him out. Unfortunately, he was talking to a man who had spent three weeks hiding inside an enemy’s wall, a man with a bit of patience. The kid was thrown, but if he could do that, then Chuck could say this.   
“Maybe it doesn’t have to be that way. Maybe he can be part of … a family?”

Casey swallowed. It was the only indication that told the kid he was listening. Everything was suddenly so still that Chuck wondered if his boyfriend would answer. It was the way he refused to look up that forced Chuck to press on. 

“It’s more than that, though.” Chuck put his hand over Casey’s, trying to ignore how the fingers had become rigid. “I’ve got a lot of secrets. I don’t think that’s changing any time soon. But the thing is … I’m your secret. And I get it –”

“Kid –”

“– honest I do,” Chuck went on quickly, because he knew when you’re in a hole, you learn to dig really fast. “I know it seems … well, complicated … how we fit together, but I know why it has to be this way.”

Casey’s eyes darkened. 

“Okay. Here goes,” he began, only to lose the ability to speak for a second or two. “I want – gah - every morning when you wake up, I want to be there.” Chuck licked his lips, suddenly dry, but the words were out there and they weren’t coming back. “With you.”

Casey rubbed his jaw. “Still … doesn’t explain –”

“I’m getting there. I also know that sometimes I can’t … be there. That we have to keep our distance … keep a secret between us or … well, I don’t even want to consider the consequences, but we wouldn’t be together. The government would have something to say about it, I’m sure – and you –”

“God, will you shut the hell up.” 

Chuck frowned. “You know, Finn doesn’t seem to like it when you – ow!”

“I meant this.” Casey tightened his hand around Chuck’s wrist. “Just skip the weepy shit and get to the punch line, champ.”

Chuck’s brows drew down. In any other circumstance, with any other man, he would’ve taken the cue to grab the cat, now happily cleaning itself on Casey’s lap, and scram. But this was John Casey, and in the underpinning of gunpowder and rock and cut the crap, it wasn’t the words. 

Because right about the time he took his wrist, the kid felt the pad of Casey’s thumb brushing against the underside, sending prickling heat over the sensitive bare skin there. His other hand came up to firmly settle on his nape, ruffling a few locks of unruly dark hair. The man spoke languages, just with a few deft fingers.

“Jesus, Bartowski. Just say it.”

Again. His thumb made tiny circles, and Chuck slanted a look, reading into that sculpted face, knowing he was only seeing the surface. While Casey was getting an eyeful of him down to his open soul. 

He had to get this over with. 

“To have another chance at a family … for both of us. I know it seems stupid, and maybe I shouldn’t have done it, but I never want you to be alone, either.” Since Casey had loosened his hold on his wrist, Chuck curved his hand over Casey’s, twined his fingers through his. “It’s just that,” he said solemnly, and simply smiled. “When I can’t be here, I don’t want you to be alone. Ever. That’s why you have … a cat.” 

Casey’s stare was a riddle. “A cat.”

The kid raked a hand through his hair and sat up, distinctly aware of the hand now cupping his neck. “I … guess I should be saying you may have a cat … not that you have to keep him. Because – oh, hell – not that I would ever try to interpret that particular look, but I get the feeling you’re not – what are you doing?”

“Trying to get you to shut the hell up.” And he was getting good at it. Casey’s hand on the back of his neck became a vise, and truthfully, the kid couldn’t even move. Abruptly, he then pulled him in so close that Chuck could smell the scent of his stupid lavender soap. God, why did he have to smell like that?

“Do you mind getting your paw off my neck?” Chuck blinked away the sting of the remark, but it was just one more thing to leave the kid with a whorl of confusing emotions. “Fine. I thought I could make a point here, but obviously … crap. I’m sorry, okay? I’ll take the cat back tomorrow, and –”

“Finn,” Casey said, flipping a few fingers to whisper through a curl or two as he thought about it. 

“Yes. Does it matter?” Chuck huffed but gave up squirming, letting him control since he damn well would anyway. “You are a very frustrating man – not to state the obvious.” 

And then Casey did the strangest thing. He reached out and stroked one of those catcher mitt-sized hands of his over the fluffy body on his lap. Fingers swept back and forth and his brow wrinkled up as he scrutinized the animal. “I don’t like it.” 

Chuck’s mouth went dry, the sudden ache in his chest beginning to suffocate him. “Again, fine,” he managed, not knowing how he had told his body to move, but he did. Pick up the box. Put it in the box. “I understand.” Lie. “I told you, first thing tomorrow, I’ll pack him up and –”

“Milhouse.”

“What … did you say?”

“Mil-house,” Casey said, hesitating before giving the cat stroke. Apparently being no dummy, the scruffy tabby tipped his head and leaned into it, a move that earned him a scratch on the top of his head. “I meant, Bartowski, I didn’t like the name they gave him.” Casey looked over to the sight of Chuck’s jaw hanging open. “Finn. Puh. Look at him. Damned embarrassed by it. Milhouse sounds like a solid name, eh?”

“Mil– ?” Chuck lifted his head, brown eyes muddled. “His … name?”

“Yeah. You got a better idea, sport?”

“A better –” Chuck blinked. He was probably looking at him like an idiot, because there was no way that was an affectionate smile that crossed his face. 

Or maybe it was. 

Scratching the back of his head, Chuck eyes went wide, trying to figure out if Casey knew what he was saying. It sounded something like yes, gauging by the slow and lazy smile gracing his angular face. 

The kid smiled that beautiful smile back at him. “Are you telling me … you like your gift?”

“All I’m saying is this. I like the way … you told it to me.” Casey gently untangled his fingers from Chuck’s dark waves, sliding them to his jaw, using the hold to guide his face to him. He leaned over the kid, so their lips were almost touching. “I guess … we’ll keep him.”

Before Casey could even think of retracting his offer, Chuck closed the gap. Smiling against his lips, he fisted the front of his shirt, holding him close, just in case his boyfriend thought he would end the kiss too quickly. He pressed in, his tongue delving inside, and kept kissing him, feeling Casey’s chest tauten under his fingers. It felt satisfying to hold the power for once, brief as it would be.

The kiss ended, his lips still tingled against his. Chuck’s smile went lop-sided. “Oh, and for the record? If you think I’m going to let you name our cat after a Watergate scandal ‘I am not a crook’ president, you are out of your friggin’ mind.”  
Casey scratched the side of the cat’s head. His eyes slid down to Chuck’s lips, the hollow of his throat, and marking the target, he dipped his head. “Let’s … negotiate.” 

“Do what now – mmm.”

Not taking time to explain, Casey’s tongue looped under his ear, rolling the lobe between his teeth. Soft lips drifted to the side of his neck, and Casey set his teeth to him. Tasted. And oh, hell. Chuck felt the shiver start in his lower belly. 

“Gipper,” Casey said, lips moving up to graze his ear. “Hm?”

Chuck fought the urge – should not, will not … – and angled his chin, letting him bury his nose in the soft hair. “Again – ah. That’s … that’s cheating, you know. Do you really think I’m that naïve? “

“Do you really want me to answer that?” Casey’s tongue teased the pulse below his ear, his lips then passing over his flush jaw. So close to the edge of his mouth, still teasing without a kiss. “Okay,” he breathed, hand curling around his middle. “Charlton.”

“Um, as in ‘from my cold, dead hands’?” Chuck shook his head. “No … just no. Not happening.”

“Knew that one, eh?” Casey bit down on Chuck’s lip and pulled back. “Limbaugh.”

“In your dreams, Case.”

“O’Reilly.”

“Have you ever been told you’re kinda insane?”

“Don’t care.”

Chuck huffed. “I know that one too. Not a chance.”

“Remington,” Casey said emphatically.

Chuck’s eyes narrowed. Two could play this. “Thundercat.” 

Casey squared his shoulders and stood. “Rambo.”

“Excalibur,” Chuck insisted, climbing to his feet.

“Caliber.” Casey rose on his heels and smirked at pulling that one off. 

“No firearms. That’s my rule.” The kid lifted on his toes an inch to even their height. “Marvel.”

“Walther.” 

“What did I just say?” Chuck asked, crossing his arms. “Wolverine.”

Casey raised a bored eyebrow. “He’s a cat, Bartowski.”

“Well.” Chuck cocked his head to the side. “He has claws.”

His boyfriend couldn’t help but smile. “Barrett.”

“What kind of a name – oh, wait.” Chuck did a double-take, studied that innocent look. “For your information, that particular sniper rifle is in the Intersect, so no. Spawn.”

Casey rolled his eyes. “George,” he told him firmly.

“George?” Chuck repeated it, waiting, but the Intersect had nothing on a grenade launcher or submachine gun named George. As he rolled it around in his head, he reached down and slipped a finger into one of Casey’s belt loops. “What’s your angle?”

“Father of our country, genius.” Casey leaned in and skimmed his lips over his, just another taste out of reach. When Chuck strained forward to finish it, he came back empty. A smirk met his mock glare. “How about that?”

The question came with a two strong fingers tracing his waist. One of them went up and over his waistband and hooked him with the bait of a hot touch. “George.” Chuck pursed his lips. “Huh. Father of the Star Wars universe … this has promise.”

“Nerd.” Making good use of those fingers sliding around his middle, Casey ducked his head, pressed his lips to the kid’s throat, just below his ear. “Or one of the greatest generals of WW2.”

“Or one of the iconic cartoon characters of the past century … depicting science fantasy trappings of the American life of the future? Not bad … ow! You bit me!”

“You deserved it.” So Casey left another love bit on the delicate throat, this time laced with the shut up growl. “Not to mention Dubya. Another suitable namesake.”

“Or one of the helmsmen on the USS Enterprise.” 

“Bartowski.” That pesky hand slipped into the back of his drawstring pants, and now Chuck shut up. “I will bite you again. Not as nice as the one I just gave you.” Casey looked at him, considering. “You should open your gift before they get back.”

His palm came around to the front – for a blind moment, Chuck had no idea what gift he was referring to – and it halted its movement just long enough to leave a teasing stripe, up and down, with his thumb. By force of habit, Chuck’s eyes drifted close, but he had the sense to clamp down on Casey’s wrist and drop that wayward hand to his side, pulling him down to the couch. 

“Jesus.” Casey pressed his lips to his temple, then over his cheek. “You’ll unwrap that tomorrow when they’re on their way to the airport, eh?”

Chuck rolled his eyes, because he had been jerked around enough the past few days. “So … can we keep him?”

“He’s … resilient,” Casey said, eyeing the tabby. “I like that.”

Chuck grinned. “They were right. At the shelter? They said he would be putty once there was petting involved.”

Though the volunteers at the shelter had been unclear which he would become the amorphous substance, Chuck thought. The fuzzy large cat, or the man absently rumpling orange kitty fur through his fingers. 

Knew it. It was a toss-up.

His boyfriend picked up the cat, more gently than Chuck thought possible, and set him on the kid’s lap. “Here, take him so I can get your gift. He … seems to like getting his neck scratched.” 

“Indeed he does.” Chuck smiled affectionately at him, and since it was relatively clear, he did as he was told. Another striking similarity with his master, the neck massage bit, but he wouldn’t point that out until tomorrow or so. 

Now that the cat had settled into a new lap, Casey rose from the sofa, hunkered down on his knees, and lifted a large box from behind the tree. “Here. Take it.”

“Wow. That’s … big. And not barking … so that’s a good thing, hm?” Chuck smoothed a hand down his wrinkled shirt, trying to make sense of the blue and silver package his boyfriend had placed on the coffee table. “At least it’s wrapped much nicer than the gift you tried to give me the other night.” 

Casey snorted softly. “Was gonna stuff it into your stocking, but I didn’t think Mother would appreciate knowing what the naughty boys get.”

Chuck squinted at him. “You kept it? That thing?” Ball gag. Geez, he couldn’t even say it.

“Just open your gift, kid.” Casey’s gaze turned earnest, though Chuck made a mental note to check under the bed. Taking his seat again, he stayed close, that warm hard body lined up to his hip, his thigh. When Casey’s arm settled against the back of the sofa, he tugged lightly at a handful of chocolate curls to get him to turn. “They’ll be here soon. Do it.”

Chuck rested his elbows on his knees and inspected the box. The size alone was confounding. He figured it was about a foot tall and over two feet long. What in the world would Casey get him that would need to be in packaged like this? Not that he had thought about what to expect, but he supposed it would’ve been something small. Intimate. 

“So, you got me my very own mini-gun,” Chuck asked, raising a brow.

“Yeah. Right.” A sly smile flickered while Casey brushed his knuckles back and forth over Chuck’s cheek. “Like I would give you something that would let you blow your own pecker off.”

“Point. Especially since you seem to be quite fond of that appendage,” Chuck mumbled, finally reaching out to touch the shiny paper. Opening a package while being watched by a pair of blue eyes, the way he was now, had given him a spurt of self-consciousness. “Mother and I got matching vacuum cleaners, I see.” He smiled, trying out the joke with little to no reaction. “Or did you use your employee discount to replace my dinosaur of a printer?”

Casey rolled his eyes and curled his hand around his bicep. “God sakes. Just rip into it, will ya, cupcake?”

Making a face at him, Chuck began ripping off the paper to reveal … a plain cardboard box. The kid looked it over for a hint. “No clues for your boyfriend, hm? You’re going to make me suffer. It’s taped on the ends – oh. Thanks,” Chuck said, blushing as he took the knife Casey offered up from his boot, and began cutting the seams. “Though that’s … well, kinda sexy as hell, Casey, it is Christmas morning, and you don’t need to be armed to the – what …?”

Chuck looked up from the gift straight into Casey’s gaze. Too late the kid realized how his wholly mystified face could be interpreted. He pressed his lips together as he thought about it, or what to say. Then he swallowed when nothing immediately came to mind.

“Like it?” Casey asked, low, rubbing a few fingers along the back of his neck.

“I … guess. I mean, it’s … not what I expected.” The kid scrubbed at his stubble. “Sorry. Wow. That came out all wrong. I should be saying … thank you, and –”

“Cause there’s a reason.” Casey’s blue eyes sharpened, filled with something completely unreadable. “For the gift.” 

Chuck pushed back his hair and managed not to say anything else idiotic, though in his mind there was a significant pause. Why? Why this? 

A surprised expression fluttered over his face when it hit him. 

Shitshitshit. 

Even as he pushed it away, the knowledge lingered at the outer edges. Concentrating on it made him tired and off-balance. Sure, he knew he could only hang on – out here – for only so long. But now? Not now. 

“You’re … going somewhere,” Casey said without question, touching his back in a protective gesture. “Got you something … for your trip.”

“Somewhere?” Chuck’s face dropped. He was terrible at hiding his feelings, but this one was going to go down in the books. He tensed and leapt from the couch, upsetting the cat from its comfortable sprawl. “Are you serious?” Chuck backed up a step. “Why would you do this?”

“Do … what?” Casey asked, his jaw tightening. 

“This! Are you insane?” There was a spark in his voice, something screechy he hated, as he raked a hand through his hair. “Don’t get me wrong. It’s nice. Probably the nicest one I’ve ever seen and I’m sure it cost more than I make in, well, let’s just say a long time. But, really, Casey – this is the way to tell me they’re relocating me to a bunker?” 

“A …? Jesus.” Casey stared at him, amazed. “Do you ever stop to –” 

“Or making me move away from my family? Leave Ellie and Morgan?” Chuck felt himself trembling but he chocked it up to being blind-sided. Not fear. “You can be a real asshole, you know? And on Christmas, too! Who knew that absolutely nothing is sacred to you? Well, let me have you pass along a message to Beckman. You can tell her to go screw –”

“Wait a fucking minute….” Casey straightened in his seat. “You think that –”

Chuck lifted his chin. “Why else would you by me … a suitcase? And tell me I’m going somewhere? God, Casey!”

Casey stood up, his strung longer, tighter than Chuck could remember. The empty box landed on the floor, completely forgotten. “Why? I’m trying to –”

“Granted, it’s nice. Hell, more than nice.” Tentatively, Chuck reached down and ran his fingers over one of the edges. “I didn’t even know leather could feel like this – but I’m not going.” He set the bag down at his feet and folded his arms over his chest. “I’m staying right where I am, so if you think – hey.”

Casey was here. Next to him, in his space. Always smooth, hard – like a rock. He reached out for the side of Chuck’s neck, threading his fingers under his hair. Warm, secure hold. “Shut it,” the larger man ordered, not gently either. Chuck could see his expressions played rock-paper-scissors across his face. It looked like shock or anger would win. “What the hell is wrong with you, Bartowski?”

“Let go,” Chuck told him, shirking his shoulder from Casey’s hand. Wrong with him? It felt like an upside down snow globe, being shaken backwards and sideways. Crazy thoughts slid like glitter in his brain. “You can’t just –”

“Enough of this bullshit,” he heard Casey mutter. 

“Is that what you think this is?”

Well, that answered the question. Everyone, even the great John Casey, had a hot button. 

By the time Chuck began to pivot around, Casey had the kid pinned with his arms, his knees clamped down around his. Strong bands of muscle, like rope, wrapped the kid, pulled him in until he felt the hard surface of his body, flattened to his. “Take it easy, tiger,” Casey breathed against his temple. “Hear me out.”

“Just so you know,” Chuck grumbled, “I could get out of this … if I wanted to.” 

Casey grunted, slightly amused, but let it slide. “What the hell has gotten into you? ‘Cause you’re not walking out of here.”

Chuck considered struggling, but that would just be damned embarrassing. Especially if Mother walked in right then. Besides, a steel cage would be easier to bust out of than those arms when Casey set his mind to something. “I said let go, because there’s no way I’m –”

“Stay.” Casey loosened his hold, enough to slide an arm around his waist. Insistent, firm, but not the pissed-off reaction from a few seconds ago. “Hold onto me. No fighting,” Casey murmured. “And listen for once.”

The release allowed him to fill his lungs, steady himself. With reluctance in his eyes, Chuck reached out, latched on, his head angled back to meet his eyes. “Okay, fine. Because I can’t wait to hear how this is the best solution – and dammit, can you move your knee –”

“It was supposed to –”

“Oh, well, thank you, NSA for that.” He meant fuck right then, and was fairly certain Casey caught it. “But did anyone think that maybe I should get a say – where my home –”

“Bartowski, if there was ever a time –”

“– should be? So what, right? Yes, I know that my life isn’t really my own right now, not completely, but what I didn’t expect was betrayal, especially from –”

“Did you hear a fucking word outta my mouth last night around the table?”

“– you of all people!” he yelled, angry at having to say it. “The man that I –” 

“Moron.” It was said mostly to himself but not quite. And God dammit, he wouldn’t let go. “I’m asking you –”

“– trust as much as Ellie! There I said it! Just like my own family, but I guess now –” 

“– to move in with me,” Casey interrupted. “Make this … permanent.” When his boyfriend looked away, Chuck swore he heard some curses, and something that sounded like idiot.

“Hm?” Chuck took a deep breath. He should’ve felt it. He should’ve sensed the heated fingers that had slid up his shirt as their bodies were pressed together, caressing his middle. Soothing, assuring, and he hadn’t listened to that at all. “Did … did you just say … what?”

“I said, move in with me.” Casey’s voice was a husky growl, and dragging his hand further up his shirt, his thumb slid back and forth, tickling bare skin of his ribcage. “I want you to … be here with me.”

Chuck drew in another breath, slower, easier this time. Felt his lean chest expand against the slope of Casey’s pecs. “You … want me to ….” His voice faltered. “That’s what the suitcase was for? Really …? Not to … you’re saying that it had nothing to do with an unplanned trip, courtesy of the government and boy, do I have the proverbial egg on my face, now that – okay, I’ll stop now.”

Oh, hell. Overwhelmed by his own stupidity, he was trembling again, and Casey had to feel it. Had to. Instead of the ridicule he deserved, Casey’s hand touched his jaw, his thumb sliding over his lips, and the kid stilled. 

“Fuck. Not exactly the way I planned it,” Casey muttered, giving a fleeting glance at the suitcase. 

“I ruined it.” Chuck looked at his feet, his eyes closed. He couldn’t look into his lover’s piercing blue stare, not when there was hurt he put there. Doubted him. “Ruined everything.”

“Look at me.” When he didn’t, Casey let out an exasperated sigh. Curling his fingers, he cupped his jaw, steering his face up. Holding him steady.

Chuck opened his eyes to find his boyfriend’s face, very, very close. Casey was leaning over him, one arm slinked around his waist, aqua eyes surveying his face intently. Leaning in further, he kissed him. One kiss. 

Then, “Now will you please shut the hell up?”

“I’m … listening,” Chuck answered softly, too numb to be miffed at that.

Casey traced the line of his jaw, swiped his thumb over his mouth gently. “You remember the night I asked you to stay here. The night my family arrived … with certain … beliefs … about us.” 

“Asked?” The kid blinked at him, his thoughts still moving like dark molasses trapped in the bottom of an ancient jar. “I think I remember something about you threatening to carry me through the window if I didn’t follow you home, but that’s just a minor quibble, right?”

Casey shrugged, the movement hindered by the kid’s arm still wrapped around his shoulders. “And you said you had nothing to use to pack your things.” His forehead brushed his when Casey looked to the side. “I had already decided … and I knew you’d need something. To come here. Maybe come … home.” He shook his head. “I thought you would get it – the meaning behind the suitcase.” 

Chuck’s brows drew down. “Casey … John, I’m an idiot. I wouldn’t blame you if you hate me right now. I said things … I shouldn’t have said.” He looked at him, all solemn eyes and stiff lips. “You would’ve never – I’m sorry, okay, I –”

“Just say yes.”

“What?” the kid asked, his stumbling brain barely there yet. 

“I asked you a question,” Casey said, pulling back to really look at him. “Answer.”

Chuck lowered his head, bumping Casey’s chin, his forehead pressed to his warm cheek. He inhaled the scent of him, feeling his boyfriend’s palm dragging onto his hip, holding him there as he breathed. “Of course, it’s yes. Now you’re being the big dummy if you thought there was any other answer.” The kid grinned, said a soft utterance. “Love you.”

Casey lifted Chuck’s face to his, his lip curling into a sly smile. “I know.”

“You … know?” Chuck’s eyes widened. “Geez, Hans. What kind of an ans – mmph.” 

When Casey’s hand closed over his jaw, pulling him in roughly for a hot, powerful kiss, the kid got his answer. It was answer enough. 

I’ve loved you since Christmas. Maybe before then.

Time passed, captured in a snow globe, feathery, blurry but bursting and bright. He kissed him hard, coaxing his lips open, his tongue seduced into an erotic play that had his vitals coiling. Smiling at Chuck’s soft groan into his mouth, Casey’s hand gripped the back of his neck so he couldn’t move. Not that he had any inclination to do that. Crazy talk to give up heat and the outline of his body pressed to his.

The kid used his hands, running them over his biceps, fingers digging into the flesh … and vaguely felt a brush of a tail on his calf. He smiled against Casey’s lips. “Your cat is feeling left out,” he said with a grin.

“My cat, eh?” Casey caught his wrist and shot him a wry smile. “Thought you said yes. That’s makes him our cat.” 

Chuck tilted a brow at him. “Point,” he said and kissed him hard, showing the stubborn bastard again that the answer was yes.

-x-

“Oh, should we have … knocked?” Mother asked mildly, looking the boys up and down where they stood by the tree. 

Hell. It took five days, but now she wonders if they should knock? 

Casey rolled his eyes and nodded for the family to come in. The kid seemed embarrassed, suddenly uncomfortable at getting caught in a mind-numbing kiss, but when he tried to shuffle to the side and put some distance between their bodies, Casey responded by tightening his grip around his waist. 

“Hm?” Chuck inclined his head and gave him a quizzical look. Really, Casey, in front of your family? His hand dropped to the arm around his middle, but the shy smile told him it would stay there. 

Caged between his arms, Casey loosened them enough for Chuck to turn between them, relax his back against Casey’s chest. The move earned the agent a face full of dark curls against his cheek and temple, but he didn’t mind. Trade-off, he guessed. The inconvenience tickling his jaw was worth the warm lean body pinned against his. 

“Mom! Look! Did you know Uncle John had a cat?” Andrew set down the remote control car and ran towards the dining table where George hid, crouched under one of the chairs. “Wait – did someone get a cat for Christmas? Hey! Why didn’t I get one?”

“Yeah, Mags,” Casey said coolly. “Evil mother. When you get home, you should get Andy a cat.”

“Thanks, Uncle Johnnie,” she said between her teeth, looking pointedly at him. “Where did it come from, anyway?”

“He,” the boys corrected in unison, and Chuck angled his head to the side to meet Casey’s eyes. “We named him … um, George,” the kid went on. “He’s John’s Christmas present … from me.”

“George.” Mother winked. “How … regal.” 

“John wanted a name with a little more … fire power.” Chuck played it up by giving her that sweet smile, and rested his forearm on the one draped around his waist. When he dipped his head bashfully, Casey felt the kid rub his fingers over the top of his hand. “But we managed to negotiate, didn’t we, Casey?”

“Heh. Negotiate.” Maggie put her hands on her hips. “That’s what you were doing? Because it looked like the only negotiating going on was my brother negotiating his way to your tonsils, kid. With his tongue.”

If the goddess here thought one teasing comment from Mags would make him let the kid twist out of his arms, well, that wasn’t gonna happen. If anything, Casey held him closer, enjoying the feel of Chuck’s broad yet rangy shoulders settled against his, the swell of his ass cheeks just brushing up to his front. Casey briefly closed his eyes, breathed him in. He should let him go. Just let go. 

Later. Not until he had no other choice. For now, this was good.

When he caught the expression on Mother’s face, the picture needed no words. Christ, it was that beamin’ look that women get right before they hear wedding bells and the pitter patter of tiny feet. She’d have to be content with a tabby cat on that count.

“Nice bag.” Maggie nodded down at the whiskey-colored leather bag and whistled between her teeth. “Pricey, too. Is someone taking a trip?”

“I am,” Chuck blurted.

“We are,” Casey rectified. 

Chuck pulled out a smile of the dazzling variety. His hand dropped to wrap around Casey’s forearm, securely holding him. “Just a short one, Mother,” he said. The kid turned his head and spoke against Casey’s chin, low enough for only him to hear. “A trip across the courtyard.”

They never said it. But Mother, she always seemed to know things. And most the time, Casey didn’t appreciate the intuition. Got him in more damn trouble than he cared to recall.

It was different this time. With Chuck pressed against his chest, Casey felt him let out an exhalation, just feeling the heat of him like a southern sunset, and he didn’t mind that Mother knew. 

In answer to the kid, Casey’s mouth whispered along the back of his dark waves, then brushed past his collar. “You’re wrong,” he murmured, lips feathery light against Chuck’s ear.

“What am I wrong about this time?” Chuck asked, giving him a grin that Casey was pretty certain he wanted to see forever. 

Casey ran his knuckles along the stubble on his jaw, enjoying the warmth in those brown eyes for a second or two. “Nothing about this will be a short trip, kid,” he whispered. “Promise you.”

“Promise me what?”

Casey said nothing, letting him wonder about it. Smart as they come, anyway. He’d figure it out.

A journey.

-x-End The Kin Drops In-x-  
There is a short, smutty epilogue after this.


	9. The Kin Drops In (Epilogue)

The Kin Drops In

Epilogue 

-x-

Buy More  
26 December 2009  
11:42 am PST 

“John Casey! I was expectin’ something like this from that pathetic army of fools out there, but not you. Thought you had more pride in your work than these yahoos! Day after Christmas, the sto’s hopping with desperate shoppers. No receipts. Merchandise credit only. It’s like fishin’ in a barrel! I need my best green shirt on the sales floah! Now!” 

“And since you carpool with Bartowski, mind tellin’ me where his ass is at? ‘Cause if I don’t see your butts through that do’ in the next thirty minutes, I’m …. You’re gonna ….” 

“Man.” Big Mike’s voice cracked over the phone. “Where are ya?” 

-x-

Buy More  
26 December 2009  
4:18 pm PST 

Okay. That seemed to go passably well. The escape route got him away from a couple taking an hour to select a refrigerator. An hour! Still, Morgan looked past his shoulder one more time before he slinked into the break room, slumping against the vending machine. 

“Dude! What are you thinking?! Why are you not picking up?” 

“Big Mike is riding our assess harder than – my mother, okay?! The store is gonna explode with people returning their heated massage mats for Bluetooth speakers! I’ve had to – God, I can’t even say it – work! And you know what that does to me, man. It upsets the whole natural world order, sorta like Vista … or …. Or Quantam of Solace! Some things just aren’t supposed to happen!” 

He took a quiet moment to slug down half of his grape soda. No ice. Another upset of the world on its wobbly axis. 

“I know. It’s the cat, right?” he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Is that why … did he …?” The bearded one let out a sigh and rested his head against the glass. “I knew it! Dude, I didn’t wanna tell you at the time – I could see how excited you were! – but a cat? What on earth would Casey do with a cat? Oh God. Unless. Don’t say it. Shishkakitty-bobs on the grill? Finn-filled empanadas?! The meat dumplings he makes … with the little ….?” 

Morgan shook his head. “Okay, now I’m just making myself hungry, so maybe not that but … orange furry throw pillows?! What. Listen to me, that’s just crazy talk, right?” A nervous laugh. “Casey wouldn’t … would he?”

“Oh. Here comes Big Mike. God, he looks like the charging bulls of Pamplona. Chuck! Where are you?” 

-x-

Casa Awesome  
26 December 2009  
9:08 pm PST 

“Hey … Chuck.” Ellie greeted his voicemail with a little less enthusiasm on the sixth try. “Why are you not picking up? I was wondering what’s … going on over there? I mean, not to be nosy or anything like that ….” 

Because she wasn’t meddling. 

…. But he’s still her goofy little brother. It’s her job to worry. Though, granted, he seemed to be in capable … strong hands.

Ellie cleared her throat. “It’s been very … quiet over there. I knocked a few minutes ago – did you hear me? I noticed Casey’s car parked in its usual spot, so I thought you might want some of the leftover roast?” 

She lifted a corner of the curtain and craned her neck, peering across the courtyard. “I had some of that Swiss cheese you like. I … actually made a few sandwiches and tried to bring them over, but … oh, I should just say it, right? I peeked in your window – just to make sure you didn’t have the TV on too loud and couldn’t hear me. It’s not like I was spying on you … sweetie.”

A huff escaped. Ellie briefly considered deleting the message. But, she definitely saw … what she saw.

“So, that’s probably not the truth,” she admitted, pushing a hand through her hair. “This is going to sound … wrong … but when I happened to glance in the window, I think I saw Casey in the kitchen ... honestly, I'm not sure what he was ... okay, he was feeding … a cat. Peanut butter off of a spoon!” Though it bewildered her, Ellie couldn’t stop the smile tugging the corner of her mouth. “It was adorable, really – but, little brother, what is going on over there?”

-x-

Chuck and Casey’s bedroom  
26 December 2009  
9:12 pm PST 

“Open your mouth,” Casey said in a low voice, right over his head. “I have something for you.”

“Hm? Still … tired.” Without letting his eyes drift open, the kid tugged the blanket over his chest and attempted to duck his head lower, into the warmth. “Little longer, Case.”

Yes, he loved him, but when it came to the need of a nerd’s sleep, he could be frustrating. And yes, he’s gorgeous like this – all flushed and tousled and hard – and Chuck should open his eyes. But he can’t move. So why was it not a surprise that Casey was having none of it?

Leaning down over him, his boyfriend let out a breath, sounding impatient, and Chuck felt him shift closer. A hand cupped his jaw. Curling his fingers, his boyfriend ran his thumb over Chuck’s lips, a teasing swish back and forth, knowing he would part them. Like that. Just enough for his lover to dip the tip of his finger into his mouth. “Open, it up, sunshine,” he repeated, a finger moving to trace his nose. “You want this.”

“You know when you do that … with your finger?” Chuck mumbled, breathing in wearily, “it bugs the crap out of me.” 

He sniffed again, and whoa. Mistake. Taking that deep breath pushed the aroma of sex in his nose. It looked like – no, smelled like – someone was going to have to wash the bedding before tonight. 

Stretching his legs, he awoke more fully to find that the sheet covering him was stuck to his lower belly. A few pubes might be involved in the fray down there, and that was going to hurt when he peeled it back. He should just roll over on his side and go back to sleep. Worry ‘bout pubic hair and pungent scents later. Along with the dull ache in his jaw from doing exactly what Casey was proposing. Again.

“This bugs ya?” Casey, throwing a leg over to straddle his hips, leaned in, dropped a kiss on the edge of his mouth. “But it always wakes you up.” 

“So you’ve resorted to another form of torture, I see.” 

“Another?” Now the smooth pad of his finger slid in a line along his jaw, up to touch his temple. 

“Mm-hmm.” Without opening his eyes, Chuck reached into Casey’s robe, the split V at his chest, and grazed his knuckles over his pecs. His layer of chest hair tickled his hand, Casey’s skin slick with sweat, still damp. “Because whatever you did a few hours ago –”

“The last time?”

“No, the time before that – mm, you’re warm. I like that. You … feel good.”

“I can feel better,” Casey suggested, those pesky fingers trailing along the slope of his neck. 

“How … how can you … because honestly?” Sleepy brown eyes opened, eyelashes fluttering, to see the way his lover grinned down at him, gently caressing his bare shoulder. “I need sustenance. And I may have lost movement in my knees.” 

“Why do you think I was asking you to open your mouth, Bartowski?”

Chuck’s attention drifted down, lingering on the place his hand rested within the slope of his chest, tapering down to where the fluffy white robe was tied at his stomach. “God, don’t take this the wrong way, but considering my hollow stomach, I hope you’re talking about sustenance, and not … well, what I had for lunch.”

Casey rolled his eyes, ducked to press a kiss to the side of his neck, and reached for something on the night table. “Now that you’re awake, your mouth, sunshine. Never have a problem opening it any other time, do ya?” 

“Great in the sack and a comedian,” Chuck observed. Feeling bold, he let his hand drift up to a nipple and pinched. “Now if only I can get you hooked on Far Cry, you’d be the perfect male specimen.”

Casey looked at him, considering. “Let’s see it. Open.” 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re very singularly focused when you want – please stop with that finger. What do you have there, anyway?” The kid’s eyes narrowed at that poker-face, thinking he was seriously going to try and take him again. And how many times so far was a mystery. Chuck lost count a few hours ago. He blamed it on sweaty limbs, a sure pair of hands, and a taut set of buttocks. Holy, God. He would be sore tomorrow. 

Chuck raised his gaze from the bare flesh exposed by the loose robe. Now that he thought about it, the last time Casey had been in this position, enjoying his perch over him, was probably how the spunk ended up on his belly.

Somewhere along the way, Casey had scooted forward, Chuck watching his devious eyes get smoky and intent. He closed his hand around his cock and bent forward, rubbing the crown along Chuck’s chin, his lips. ‘Wanna take that?’ 

At first, the kid just let him, getting a dark thrill at the way it seemed to tease him. When Chuck slipped the tip of his tongue out – he really should not torment him like this – Casey pressed the underside of his cock to it, swiped back and forth. The friction made him draw in a breath through his teeth, waiting for Chuck to open up. ‘… yeah, like that, do you …? Fucking hungry?’

As the kid recalled, he didn’t have to wait long. 

“Something wrong? Did I wear you out, goddess?” 

Grinning. It seemed to please him, how soundly Chuck had been knocked out after that. And just thinking of the lazy yet strenuous afternoon in bed made his heart pound a little faster. 

“No. But the good news is, you can’t threaten me with starting an exercise routine with you anymore, because I think I have that covered. Now answer. What are you holding?”

Casey proffered two pieces of toast in front of his face. “Raspberry or peanut butter,” he said. “Pick one.” 

“Sustenance.” So heavenly that in answer, Chuck lifted his head and snatched a bite of the toast, buttered and slathered in raspberry jam before Casey could decide he wanted that one. Since it was too much effort to stay up on his elbows, he fell back to the pillow, closed his eyes, and chewed the bite slowly. Sure, it was only simple raspberry jam and toast, but it was still warm, and helped to fill the yawning hole in his stomach. 

“I suppose you want me to feed this to you, Bartowski.”

“Mm-hmm.” Chuck gave him a crooked smile and opened his mouth. “And it better be toast. Insatiable bastard,” he murmured under his breath. 

“Take a bite,” Casey told him. “You’re gonna need your energy, tiger.” 

“What I just said? Correction. I meant insatiable freak-of-nature bastard.” Wisely, he delivered the words with an even broader lop-sided grin.

Casey grunted and nudged his mouth with the toast. “Open.” 

“Yes, sir,” Chuck replied with mock reverence. When he obliged by opening a little wider, his boyfriend surprised him by tearing off a piece and feeding it to him. And truthfully, how in the hell could anyone make eating toast naughty or suggestive? But the way he turned it into a slow rub over his tongue, or smeared a little jam on his lips and told him to lick it off … well, right there. Toast porn. 

Satisfied when the kid had half of the piece in him, the larger man helped himself to the peanut butter toast – and the last bit of jam on Chuck’s bottom lip. He licked, barely touching his mouth with his tongue, but when Casey pulled back slightly, he tugged Chuck’s bottom lip between his teeth. Nibbled it lightly, teasing it with his tongue, and with the press of solid flesh and muscle into him, the kid felt himself slowly give in under the heat of a simple kiss. 

Just when he thought the kiss would deepen, Casey pulled back and stared down into his dazed eyes. “Coffee,” he said. “Sit up.” 

“I don’t know if my body will work like that right now. Or ever again,” Chuck added in a mutter. The kid struggled to get a pillow behind his head, but ow. A damn good one, but an ow nonetheless. “Just so you know, I’m blaming you if anything happens that I can’t explain to Ellie.”

“Heh.” Casey handed off one of the cups. “Here. Try not to spill.”

Chuck blinked up at him. “So, let me get this straight. Now you’re worried about getting something on these sheets?”

“Coffee doesn’t come out as easily.”

The kid started to open his mouth, but figured he didn’t want to get into that conversation. Ever. So he kept his mouth busy for a second or two with a sip of hazelnut. “I could start every day like this,” he said, and the sound of it made his brows draw together. Normally he could stay out of the fawning idiot territory that had to make Casey uncomfortable. “I didn’t mean – I don’t want you to feel –”

“What did I say about shutting the fuck up?” A grin curved Casey’s lips. Damn. Maybe it was nine-thirty on a Saturday night, and he didn’t know how many hours it had taken to bring both of them to climax at least six times, but in one easy half-smile, all of the sensations and imaginings were there, rippling through him. Except it was more than a day of urgent sex giving him a constant quiver. It was a different kind of yearning, awoken from the sleep, and it was him.

Someday he’d tell him. 

Casey’s smile faded and he lifted his cup, taking a sip. Mulling something over in that head of his. Then ruffling Chuck's hair, he moved his attention leisurely over the kid's face, down his neck, to his bare chest peeking out from the 'matching monogrammed plush hotel robe', one of Ellie’s Christmas gifts to them. 

A little self-conscious, Chuck tugged at the fold covering his chest. "Not that I should ask, because sometimes I just don't want to know the answer ... but what does that look mean?"

“Means I’m taking this off,” Casey told him, and he pressed closer. It took Chuck about two seconds too long to realize he meant his robe. One of Casey’s hands still held the coffee mug while the other, in a long slow drag, pulled the terry belt loose from his waist, untied the knot. “Can’t move, you say ...?” Casey’s voice had gone to the place where it scraped on loose gravel, and Chuck could feel the words curling in his lower belly, just as he watched the belt unraveling. "We'll see."

“What are you doing?” Chuck stopped to swallow, because there was no damn reason for his voice to falter just a bit. “You’re taking my robe? Because … are you really trying to kill me?”

“Kill you?” Casey lowered his head, ran his lips over Chuck’s scruffy stubble. The belt continued to snake out from under him, a slow extrication. “I need you.”

“You … do realize, one may lead to the other?” 

“Easy, stud. What I have planned for you? You’ll be fine.” Casey fixed his eyes on his face for a moment, ran his hand over the fold of the terry cloth, and flipped one side of the robe open. Then the other. Feeling heat on every exposed, raw part of him, Chuck hitched at the touch of Casey’s knuckles sliding up his ribcage, back down, sweeping over the flesh he had just bared for himself. As his boyfriend’s hands scraped his skin, his eyes went from a look of contemplation to something more on the scale of mischievous. Then to outright, yeah, you’re in in trouble. 

“Hips up,” Casey ordered abruptly, giving him a light tap on the side with his palm. “Lift ‘em.”

Chuck watched as Casey’s arm drew out straight to the side, tugging the belt out of the last terry loop. “What … what are you doing with that?” 

“This.” His eyes fell on Chuck’s lips, and the kid willingly let him take the kiss. He wasn’t sure where Casey was going with this, but he was ready to … listen. 

So trying to ignore the looped belt Casey had dropped on the pillow, Chuck closed his eyes. He felt Casey’s hands trail down his arms … lower, taking a path down his forearms to his hands. 

Then wordlessly, he caught his wrists, stretched the kid’s arms over his head, and pressed them into the pillow. 

“What’re you – mmm.” Still kissing him. At the slow invasion of his control, a shiver of anticipation worked through Chuck’s body. Being pinned down under him, the surprise of his forcefulness, when did that become such a turn-on? Shouldn’t he protest or argue or say something about the dig of fingers into his wrists? Or the length of Casey’s body, one solid line of muscle, holding him, his thigh pressed down and in? 

That was all Casey, though. Trust tangled with need. The lines were as blurry as droplets on a watercolor. 

Reflexes made Chuck try to give the sheets a little kick, and he pulled gingerly at the grip, twisted this way, then that. There was a grunt of amusement above him, and Casey swallowed the first mumblings of resistance with a bruising, hungry kiss. Sliding his hands around in a circle, quick strong fingers looped the belt around his wrists, tightening the swath of soft rope. Or something exactly like a rope, long, thick, an endless restraint, one he wasn’t sure he wanted to fight … and he was kissing him again. Not as crushing, drawing him in, asking him without words to let him.

“I - I don’t think this is what Ellie intended when she bought us the matching robes,” Chuck panted, tipping his head up to look meaningfully at his bound hands. Lot of good that did. The white terry was knotted to the headboard while he spoke, because Casey never listened when he should. The kid could only stare up at him in bewilderment. 

Jesus, he should not have a hard on at this. No, no, no….

God! Please don’t let Casey feel that. 

In the middle of testing his knot, Casey paused long enough to look down and just gave him a leer. “Like it, eh?”

Chuck blushed and wiggled his helpless fingers do avert the focus. “Think about it. Do you really think Ellie meant to give us this finely wrapped bondage slash spa moment?”

“I’m improvising, kid.” Without any further elaboration, Casey made another loop around his wrists and tied it off. 

“Um.” A desperate search around the bedroom yielded nothing but a horny man with his knees on either side of his hips. “I’m going to remind you again, I can get out of this, you know. I don’t completely suck in martial arts department anymore.”

“Yeah?” Casey’s voice went raw and dirty. “Being able to get out of it is one thing, Bartowski,” he said. “But the question is … why would you want to?”

Chuck bit down on his lip as he thought about it. “Okay … I have to give you that one.” It took all his concentration not to babble nervously as he considered his position. Giving up on what to say, he tugged on his arms to demonstrate his plight. “But if I couldn’t move before, well, you can see now that you’re –”

“In charge?” Casey chuckled softly and went back to tracing his nose, knowing that it bugged the crap out of him and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. “That what you’re trying to say?”

“I … guess,” Chuck complained breathlessly against Casey’s fingers, moving down to swipe over his lips. 

“Good.” Casey sat up taller in his perch and dragged his finger down Chuck’s sternum. Twirled a fingertip around the nub of his nipple. When he stopped low on his belly, Casey leaned to the side and took his coffee mug from the nightstand. “Since I’m the one calling the shots, then I can do this.” 

“Do … what?” 

Chuck could imagine him choosing to pass the next few minutes finishing his cup of coffee while the kid was laid out essentially bare and restrained underneath him, the robe flapped open on both sides. The bastard would enjoy it, too, since his cock was as stiff as the first time, pressed against his immobilized lover. 

“You wanna know, don’t you?” He stroked one hand over his arm, all the way up, and gripped his wrists under the terry belt. His hot palms held Chuck more effectively than any swath could.

The kid gave him a puzzled smile. Without thinking, his fists became nervous knots. “John, what –?” 

“Don’t move.” Sitting back on his heels, Casey’s gaze slid over him, reflecting that he enjoyed his lean body, the way Chuck’s muscles moved as he shifted under him – 

– and gradually … excruciatingly slow, he tipped the last of the darkly-hued liquid over his chest, then taking the drizzling path lower. 

“Ah! What are you doing?! Hot!” In the middle of trying to twist his hands free, Chuck gave up and went still, wincing for the coming burn ... that didn’t come. “Oh. Wait. Not hot, just … warm. Very warm,” he said, sounding sheepish. “But, still! Why did you do that?” 

As an answer, Casey scooted back to straddle his thighs, and as he tipped the cup slightly one more time, the brew, umber and tepid, trickled down a very sensitive part of his anatomy. “So that I can lick it off, of course,” Casey rumbled, starting with the pool between his pecs. Then a long warm stripe down the center of his chest. “You got a problem with that, kid?”

Chuck made a whimper and closed his eyes. The hungry little noise was a comeback Casey seemed to appreciate, since his boyfriend gave a deep chuckle. Right then, the kid felt his cock respond just to that husky sound, as if he could jerk him to attention whenever he wished. 

Not always. Not every time, right? But oh, God, this time he would ….

“I should keep going. Get the rest of it.” Casey’s wet mouth licked the tender bump of his nipple, the curve of his skin over his ribs. The kid’s flat stomach must’ve held a puddle of liquid, because Casey spent a good minute licking and teasing his flesh there. “Found some here, too.” 

When he bent his head lower, Casey proved he could torture a man without his usual spy tools and rude whatchamcallits. He also never lost sight of the ultimate goal. That was the blissful point Chuck felt his toes curl, knowing he was the goal. So with one last look up at him, you wanna watch me, doncha? Casey ran his tongue down his length, just cupping the side, up over the slit. Tasting, taking his time … and obviously enjoying the squirming this move was getting him.

“N-not fair!”

“Humph. And here,” Casey said. Holding the kid’s hips, he tongued him in one slow movement, looping around the crown of his cock, wetting the broad head. When he pushed two fingers into Chuck’s ass, making him buck, he moved down to his inner thigh to lick up an errant trickle. “Dirty boy, eh?”

“God, Casey.”

“Didn’t you just say you couldn’t move?” 

“Son of a bitch. Can you just … c’mon – God.” Chuck shuddered and fought for breath, but he was not in control of himself anymore. One thing he could control, though. “C-Casey … I think your aim is a little off t-today. I think you missed some.”

“Yeah? Maybe I wanna hear that whimper again. Here.” First thumbing the ridge around the crown, he watched Chuck as the kid squeezed his eyes shut. “You’re trembling, cupcake. This might help.” 

“H-help? Oh, shit.”

That’s what he meant by help. Going lower, Casey swished his tongue under the head, swirling the tip of it against the little indent of skin there – and sank down on him. And maybe liking the feel of Chuck thrusting his hips up, shoving cock in his mouth, Casey groaned his approval. 

Does he know how that feels against his dick? Because the vibration pulsed, shooting a current of reaction through the kid – and oh, hell, Casey countered it with another groan. Keep going. Please. 

“Like that? Give me those brown eyes, kid. Want you to pay attention.” Then he opened his mouth and drew him in slow, savoring, taking him to the back of his throat. His hand dropped to cup his balls, thumb rubbing slowly, rolling them lightly between his fingers. Spilled coffee was momentarily forgotten.

“Jesus.” Chuck’s soft utterance came with a useless pull of his hands, stopping when the terry belt didn’t give. “That’s it. Oh. God … I …. You are a very bad man.” A gasp for air, and Chuck didn’t care how much the rest sounded like the whimper his lover was looking for. “.… fuck, Casey …. Do that. Do th-that … again.”

“That’s what I thought,” Casey murmured. “You can move.” He pulled back just an inch or two, warm breath grazing every stiff rosy inch, put his hands on his thighs, and dug in. “Yeah. Coffee with a slice of nerd. Now hold still. I wanna get all of it.”

-x-End The Kin Drops In Epilogue-x-

Thanks for your love and support of the story! Up next, I'll be wrapping up the posting of Wings of Grace.  
-skye


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